. 


SIX    CENT    SAM. 


SIX  CENT  SAM'S 


DY 


JULIAN  HAWTHORNE 


ILLUSTRATED    BY 


JOHN  HENDERSON    GARNSEY 


ST.  PAUL 

THE  PRicE-McGiLL  COMPANY 

455-473   CEDAR  STREET. 


COPYRIGHTED    1893 

BY 

THE  PRICE-McGILL  CO. 


PK1NTED    AND    PLATED    13  X 

THE  PRICE-McGUvL  COMPANY 

BT.    PAUL,    MINN. 


CONTENTS. 


PACK. 

Mr.  Dunton's  Invention,        -        --....         9 

Greaves'  Disappearance,    -  -  .          27 

Raxworthy's  Treasure,    -  --..__      5] 

The  John  North  Mastery,  ------  79 

A  Model  Murder,       -       -        -        -       -        -       .       .        -103 

The  Symposium,    ------.__        126 

The  Author's  Stor}',   -----.-_     138 

The  Virtuoso's  Story,     -----._        14g 

The  Electrical  Engineer's  Story,      -        -        ...    159 
The  Captain's  Story,      ----...        195 

The  Unseen  Man's  Story,          -       -       -       .       .       -218 
The  Swarthy  Man's  Story,    ---...        254 
The  Irishman's  Story,        --.....    288 

My  Own  Story,        ........        3^7 


2072159 


SIX  CENT  SAM'S. 


MR.  DUNTON'S  INVENTION. 

ROSSING  Broadway,  oppo 
site  the  post  office,  I  jumped 
to  get  out  of  the  way  of  a 
galloping  wagon-horse,  and 
collided  violentl\r  with  the 
shoulder  of  a  big  man  in 
dingy  gray  clothes,  who 
was  striding  tip  town.  He 
turned  upon  me  with  a  sort 
of  large,  slow  indignation, 
and  the  next  moment  we  were  laughing  and  shak 
ing  hands.  It  was  Charley  North  am.  He  looked 
bigger,  paler,  and  more  impenetrable  than  ever. 
Northam  is  alwaj-s  hiding  something,  or  has  some 
thing  in  reserve ;  not  that  anything  in  his  circum 
stances  makes  reserve  necessary,  but  he  loves  mys 
tery  for  its  own  sake,  and  enjoys  luring  you  on  to 


10  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

investigate.  His  small  gray  eyes  contemplate  you 
with  a  smile  of  repressed  superior  information. 
His  speech  and  bearing,  outwardly  courteous  and 
even  deferential,  are  imvardly  satiric.  He  cultivates 
a  subtle  vein  of  mockery,  and  has  a  stock  of  c\-nical 
phrases,  which  he  repeats  a  propos  dcs  bottcs. 
His  general  purpose  is  to  be  impressive  —  to  com 
mand  attention  and  to  be  waited  for.  In  other 
\vords,  Big  Northam  is  always  posing. 

Big  though  his  bodily  manifestation  is,  he  is  so 
cunning  and  agile  of  mind  that  you  must  be  quick 
indeed  to  put  your  hand  on  him.  Brains  he  has  in 
abundance,  but  there  is  an  odd  bias  in  him;  he 
affects  queer  company,  and  meets  with  outlandish 
adventures.  Sometimes  it  pleases  him  to  play  the 
anarchist,  and  he  will  attend  Herr  Most's  meet 
ings  and  shout  and  shoulder  about  and  declaim  on 
the  abolition  of  wealth  and  the  religion  of  human 
ity.  At  other  times  he  is  an  art  critic  and  connois 
seur,  with  books  and  pictures  of  inestimable  rarity 
to  show  you.  Again,  you  will  find  him  immersed 
in  the  peaceful  avocations  of  commerce,  or,  drop 
ping  in,  by  way  of  an  experience,  at  the  Bowery 
Theatre,  you  will  behold  a  stout,  pale  man  fiddling 
away  industriously  in  the  orchestra,  or,  it  may  be 
declaiming  from  the  stage.  But  it  would  take 


MR.  DUNTON'S  INVENTION.  11 

long  to  paint  the  full-length  portrait  of  Charley 
Northam,  and  we  have  other  business  in  hand  just 
now. 

After  shaking  hands  he  tucked  my  arm  under  his 
own,  his  big  fat  elbow  pressing  against  my  ribs, 
and  drew  me  along  with  him. 

"Have  you — er  —  satisfied  the  cravings  of  the 
inner  man?  "  asked  he,  in  his  quasi-jocose  vein.  It 
\vas  between  twelve  and  one  o'clock,  and  New 
York  was  plunging  to  and  from  lunch. 

"I  was  just  thinking  of  it.  Let  us  go  to  Marco's. 
There's  a  quiet  table  there,  and  first-class  Bur 
gundy  at  a  dollar  a  bottle."  But  Northam  smiled 
in  a  superior  way  and  shook  his  head. 

"No;  wre  shall  be  sure  to  meet  Bloomerlthere, 
and  you  know  how  many  kinds  of  an  ass  he  is. 
Come  with  me.  I  will  show  you  something.  I'll 
introduce  you  and  stand  your  sponsor.  Do  you 
know  —  have  you  been  initiated  at  Sam's  ?  " 

11  Sam's?" 

"I  thought  so.  And  yet,  I  suppose,  you  profess 
to  know  your  New  York.  Why,  my  dear  friend, 
Sam's  is  the  place  in  town.  It  is  the  Mecca  of 
interest  and  adventure.  Sam  and  I  are  old  pals. 
Why,  this  will  be  the  biggest  kind  of  a  treat  for 


12  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

you.  For  character,  human  nature,  plots,  you 
don't  need  to  go  outside  of  Sam's.  Six  Cent  Sam's 
is  a  world." 

"It  doesn't  sound  expensive,  anyhow.  Where 
is  it?" 

"Place  yourself  under  my  guidance.  Ten  minutes 
on  the  L  and  we  are  there.  I  am  delighted  to  be 
the  means  of  bringing  Sam  and  you  together.  It 
may  have  results." 

"What  is  Sam  ?    A  man,  or  a  place  ?  " 

"Both,  emphatically  both.  The  place  is  as 
famous  in  its  way  as  Delmonico's.  For  that  mat 
ter,  Del's  is  vulgar,  compared  with  it  —  vulgar,  sir. 
•Del's  entertains  the  Upper  Ten,  and  makes  them 
pay  through  the  nose  for  it.  Sam  entertains  the 
world  —  and  it  pays  them." 

"A  good  deal  of  a  crowd  there,  is  there?  " 

"By  no  means.  No,  not  the  world  as  to  num 
bers,  but  as  to  quality.  He  brings  together  the 
heights  and  the  depths,  affluence  and  penury,  the 
patrician  and  the  plebeian." 

"All  for  six  cents?" 

"All  for  six  cents,"  echoed  Northam,  with  his 
patronizing  smile.  "Of  course,  that's  more  or  less 
figurative.  You  pay  six  cents  to  get  in.  Unless 
Sam  likes  your  looks,  though,  you  don't  get  in  at 


MR.  DUNTON'S  INVENTION.  13 

any  price.  Your  six  cents  entitles  you  to  certain 
privileges  —  a  seat  at  a  table,  bread  and  butter, 
soup,  coffee,  or  milk  —  a  meal  for  a  king.  But  you 
may  command  what  more  your  purse  will  buy. 
You  are  subject  to  certain  rules,  as  to  drunken 
ness,  noise,  and  so  forth.  Sam  is  an  autocrat  —  a 
despot  —  the  only  absolute  one  I  have  ever  known. 
But  he  is  always  beneficent.  He  is  a  man  and  a 
mystery." 

In  pronouncing  these  words,  Northam  lowered 
and  deepened  his  voice,  and  glanced  at  me  porten 
tously. 

"A  mystery,  is  it?  What  sort  of  a  mystery 
can—" 

The  train  was  approaching  Bleeker  street,  and 
Northam,  laying  his  huge  hand  lightly  on  my 
arm,  murmured : 

"We  are  here." 
When  we  were  in  the  street,  I  repeated : 

' '  WThat  mystery  — 

"Ah,  a  mystery  as  is  a  mystery,"  he  rejoined. 
"Thoroughly  shrunk,  clear  wove,  a  yard  \vide, 
none  other  in  the  market.  To  begin  \vith,  you  are 
to  know  that  nobody  knows  who  Sam  is.  Sam  is 
his  name,  and  no  one  knows  any  other  name  of 
him.  None  knows  who  or  whence  he  is.  There 


14  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

are  some  who  will  tell  }rouheis  a  prince  in  disguise ; 
others  have  it  that  he  is  our  coming  dictator.  He 
is  everything,  and  he  is  nothing  —  nothing  but  Six 
Cent  Sam.  Call  him,  if  you  will,  a  mixture  of 
Saint  Paul  and  the  devil.  I  can  tell  you  no  more. 
You  must  judge  for  yourself.  We  turn  to  the  left. 
Here  we  are.  Keep  hold  of  my  arm." 

I  had  not  been  noticing  just  where  we  were 
going.  When  we  entered  Six  Cent  Sam's  door  I 
could  not  have  said  what  street  or  avenue  it  was 
on.  We  stepped  into  an  enclosed  porch,  which  was 
glazed  as  to  its  upper  portion,  and  had  an  aper 
ture  therein  for  the  reception  of  coin.  Looking 
through  the  glass  panel,  I  met  the  glance  of  an  eye 
—  quick,  masterful  and  penetrating — which  held 
mine  for  a  moment,  and  then  the  lid  of  the  aper 
ture  slid  back  with  a  click.  "Put  your  fare  in," 
said  Northam.  "It's  against  the  rules  for  me  to 
pay  for  you.  Everyone  on  his  own  bottom,  or  not 
at  all,  here.  A  cent  and  a  nickel  —  all  right. 
Enter." 

The  door  slid  on  its  grooves,  and  we  went  in. 
There  was  nothing  at  first  sight  remarkable  in  the 
look  of  the  interior.  The  man  with  the  masterful 
eyes  stood  or  sat  in  a  box  close  to  the  door,  and, 
by  means  of  a  spring,  worked  the  money  aperture 


MR.  DUNTON'S  INVENTION.  15 

and  the  door  itself.  The  room  beyond  was  forty 
feet  long,  with  a  passageway  down  the  center 
between  two  rows  of  stalls,  each  containing  a 
table  and  benches.  The  guests  were  screened  from 
one  another,  but,  by  an  arrangement  of  mirrors,  it 
was  possible  for  the  proprietor  from  his  place  to 
see  the  interior  of  every  box,  and  knew  what  was 
going  on  in  it.  There  were  two  or  three  quiet, 
elderly  waiters,  and  the  place  wore  a  sober, 
respectable  aspect. 

"My  friend,  here,"  said  Northam,  presenting  me 
to  the  proprietor,  ''is  one  of  the  right  sort,  and  will 
be  an  acquisition.  Anything  going  on  ?  " 

"You  might  try  the  third  box  this  way,"  replied 
'Sam,  in  a  deep,  muffled  voice.  "You  know 
Dunton  ?  You  are  welcome  here,"  he  added  to  me. 
"You  will  soon  catch  our  style.  Hope  to  see  you 
often." 

I  bowed,  and  the  audience  was  over.  But  I  felt 
that  in  those  few  moments  my  host's  eyes  had 
«een  further  into  me  than  most  eyes  do.  Northam 
drew  me  along,  and  we  approached  the  entrance 
to  box  three. 

"One  word,"  said  Northam,  suddenly  facing  me 
with  half  shut  eyes,  and  resting  his  hand  on  my 
shoulder.  "It's  a  rule  here  that  any  guest  may 


16  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

offer  to  treat  another,  but  if  the  offer  is  accepted 
the  guest  is  bound  to  entertain  his  host  \vith  a  true 
story  of  his  adventures.  Am  I  understood  ?  Very 
good.  Now,  this  Dunton  is  an  inventor.  He  has 
met  with  a  rather  odd  misfortune,  and  a  few 
weeks  ago  he  laid  his  case  before  Sam.  You  heard 
what  Sam  said  just  now  ?  " 

"Is  this  a  private  detective  agency,  or  what?" 
I  demanded. 

"I  told  you  just  now  that  Sam  is  a  mystery.  I 
say  no  more  at  present.  Let  us  open  negotiations 
with  Mr.  Dunton.  This  way." 

We  entered  the  box,  where  a  thin,  middle-aged 
man  sat  sipping  a  bowl  of  soup,  into  which  he  had 
crumbled  some  bread.  He  looked  up  at  Northam 
with  a  courteous  gesture. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Dunton,"  said  the  latter. 
"Know  my  friend,  here.  He  is  one  of  us.  Now, 
let  me  enlarge  your  order  by,  say,  a  juicy  sirloin 
and  a  bottle  of  Beaune.  And  how  comes  on  the 
great  case?  " 

"  You  are  very  kind  ;  be  seated,  gentlemen,"  said 
Dunton.  "But  I  should  say,"  he  added,  "that 
there  is  nothing  new  as  yet  in  my  matter." 

"Nothing  new  to  you  and  me,  perhaps,  but  all 
new  to  our  friend  here.  Refresh  his  thirsty  ears 


MR.  DUNTON'S  INVENTION. 


17 


with  your  narrative.     The  steak  and  fixings  will 
be  here  immediately." 

Mr.  Dunton  gave  me  a  momentary,  intent 
glance.  His  fine,  sensitive 
face  showed  more  intellect 
than  will,  and  there  was  in 
his  eyes  an  abstracted  ex 
pression  indicating  an  emo 
tional  nature.  There  were 
marks  of  grief  and  disap 
pointment  on  his  counte 
nance,  yet  an  occasional  uplifting  of  the  brows 
indicated  a  man  not  altogether  beaten. 

"I  think  I  may  speak  before  you,"  he  said,  after 
a  little  hesitation.  "Are  you,  perhaps,  interested 
in  the  advance  of  electrical  science,  and  such 
things?" 

"I  am  more  interested  than  informed.  I  am  a 
good  listener." 

"Most  astonishing  business  I  ever  heard  of," 
remarked  Northam,  "if  that's  any  significance,'' 
he  added,  sniffing  through  his  nose,  and  nodding 
his  head  ominously. 

"  All  we  inventors  are  trying  to  get  at  what  lies 
behind  electricity,"  said  Dunton.  "Electricity  is  a 
result  of  a  precedent  state,  and  it  seems  probable 

2 


18  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

that  this  precedent  state  is  itself  the  Supreme 
Force  in  nature — the  direct  material  analogue  of 
the  Creator." 

He  had  an  agreeable,  highly-modulated  voice, 
and  his  earnestness  bred  attention.  There  is  a 
touch  of  the  poet  in  every  true  inventor. 

"Now,  sir,"  he  continued,  "I  am  one  of  those 
cursed  \vith  a  yearning  to  penetrate  into  the 
inmost  shrine  of  the  Temple  of  Isis,  and  I  am  com 
paratively  indifferent  to  the  allurements  of  the 
outer  courts.  All  that  the  divine  hand  has  made 
is  good,  but  I  am  drawn  to  the  secret  spring  of 
waters,  and  heed  not  the  rainbows  and  thunders 
of  the  cataract.  For  is  it  not  from  the  small  and 
silent  that  all  things  truly  great  proceed  ?  " 

Northam  shook  his  head  humorously.  "The 
larger  the  bottle,  the  greater  the  inspiration," 
quoth  he.  "And,  in  good  time,  I  spy  our  inspira 
tion  coming  toward  us,  with  the  steak  hard  upon 
its  heels.  Don't  mind  me,  Dunton  ;  3-011  know  my 
way.  I  am  a  barbarian,  but  I  appreciate." 

Dunton  smiled  faintly,  and  went  on,  addressing 
himself  more  particularly  to  me.  Meanwhile 
Northam  tested  the  temperature  of  the  Burgundy 
and  filled  our  glasses. 


MR.  DUNTON'S  INVENTION.  19 

*'  I  need  n't  give  the  details  of  my  conception," 
said  Dunton;  "they  are  technical,  and  what  you 
want,  I  take  it,  are  the  drama  and  the  passion  of 
the  story.  And  that  brings  me  to  say  that  at  the 
time  I  finished  formulating  my  great  idea,  I  entered 
into  bonds  of  betrothal  with  a  young  girl,  the 
daughter  of  a  physician  in  the  town  where  I  lived. 
I  cannot  speak  of  my  feeling  for  her.  Recall  your 
own  deepest  experience,  and  it  may  help  you  to 
understand  me.  Nor  can  I  tell  you  of  her  beauty. 
She  absorbed  me ;  I  could  not  see  her  as  I  saw 
other  women.  I  was  too  near  her  for  that.  How 
old  a  man  do  you  think  me,  sir?  " 

Surprised  at  the  abruptness  of  the  question,  I 
I  looked  at  him  and  answered,  "About  forty," 
though  he  really  looked  older  than  that. 

"I  am  twenty-eight,"  he  said.  " Three  years 
ago,  I  was  twenty  years  younger.  It  has  all  come 
upon  me  through  her." 

"Didn't  I  say  it  was  astonishing?"  put  in 
Northam,  with  the  air  of  a  proprietor.  "Here,  try 
this  bit  of  steak ;  it  won't  stop  your  ears,  nor  his 
tongue,  either." 

"I  don't  say  she  didn't  care  for  me,"  went  on 
Dunton,  whose  thin  blood  the  generous  wine  had 
warmed.  "I  have  thought  it  out  a  hundred  times. 


20  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

I  believe  she  did  not  know  what  was  intended 
till  it  was  too  late.  But  you  shall  judge  for  your 
self.  Her  father  had  some  knowledge  of  science ; 
he  was  older  than  I, — as  old  as  I  look  now, — a  man 
of  the  world,  and  a  fascinating  man.  I  had  no 
concealments  from  him.  I  discussed  my  invention 
with  him  constantly,  she  sitting  by,  watching  and 
listening.  He  comprehended  the  greatness  of  the 
idea,  and  the  stupendous  results  that  would  follow 
it.  He  flattered  me  and  encouraged  me.  Perhaps 
even  he  intended  no  treachery  then.  Evil  as  well 
as  gtood  comes  to  men,  they  know  not  how.  The 
seed  finds  its  proper  soil.  It  flowers  in  a  night, 
and  the  sinner  or  the  saint  stands  revealed  to  him 
self  and  others. 

"I  was  troubled  with  a  nervous  affection  and  the 
doctor  was  treating  me.  He  was  a  man  of 
advanced  notions,  and  had  studied  the  methods  of 
the  French  school,  which  is  attempting  to  employ 
hypnotism  as  a  curative  agent.  My  disease  failed 
to  react  to  the  customary  treatment,  and  he  finally 
asked  me  to  let  him  try  the  effect  of  hypnosis.  I 
was  a  good  subject,  but  at  first  I  was  a  little  shy 
about  submitting  myself  to  the  trance ;  one  does 
not  like  to  surrender  his  will,  even  to  a  friend. 
However,  I  finally  consented. 


MR.  DUNTON'S  INVENTION.  21 

"To  the  surprise  of  both  of  us,  he  failed.  It  may 
have  been  due  to  the  lack  of  some  temperamental 
sympathy  between  us ;  at  all  events  the  only  effect 
upon  me  was  a  rather  unpleasant  excitement.  He 
was  visibly  annoyed.  'I  am  still  convinced  you 
are  an  excellent  subject,'  said  he.  'I'm  not  the 
right  operator  for  you,  that's  all.  It's  a  pity,  for 
I'm  sure  it  would  benefit  you.' 

"  Then  the  girl  came  and  stood  over  me,  and  put 
her  hand  on  my  head.  'You  are  tired  out,'  she 
said.  '  Go  to  sleep  and  forget  about  it.  Sleep,  my 
love,  sleep.' 

"A  cool,  soothing  influence  flowed  along  my 
nerves  from  her  touch.  I  felt  composed  and 
refreshed  at  once.  I  closed  my  eyes  while  she 
continued  to  pass  her  soft  fingers  over  my  hair. 
I  felt  that  I  was  falling  asleep,  but  it  was  like 
no  sleep  that  I  had  kno\vn  before.  It  was  like 
the  parting  of  soul  and  body  in  a  happy  death. 
Her  spirit  seemed  to  accompany  mine  on  its  happy 
journey.  We  left  the  earth  behind  us ;  and  I  knew 
no  more. 

"When  I  came  to  myself  I  was  lying  on  a  sofa  in 
an  inner  room.  The  doctor  sat  beside  me.  She 
"vv as  gone.  'That  was  a  lucky  chance,'  he  said. 
*  You  responded  to  her  influence  immediately.  You 


22  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

are  better  already.  Yon  will  owe  your  cure  to 
her.  Strange  we  shouldn't  have  discovered  her 
power  before  now.  Perhaps  love  has  something 
to  do  with  it.' 

"I  certainly  felt  better  than  for  many  months, 
The  treatment  was  continued  from  day  to  da}-.  I 
had  no  reluctance  in  yielding  to  her  gentle  power. 

"I  should  have  told  you  that  my  invention  was 
delayed  by  reason  of  a  process  —  a  problem  that  I 
could  not  solve.  It  had  seemed  a  trifling  thing  at 
first,  but  the  more  I  investigated  it,  the  more  vital 
did  it  turn  out  to  be.  It  was  the  hinge  on  which 
the  whole  matter  opened ;  in  other  words,  it  was 
the  secret  that  science  has  been  seeking  from  the 
beginning.  I  had  penetrated  further  than  the 
others,  but  I  was  still  outside  the  shrine,  and  the 
door  that  was  closed  against  me  seemed  the  most 
impregnable  of  all." 

"Now  listen  to  him — just  listen  to  him,"  mut 
tered  Northam.  "I  say  nothing — not  a  word;  but 
just  you  listen  to  him,  that's  all,"  and  he  refilled 
our  glasses. 

"One  evening,"  continued  Dunton,  with  flushed 
cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes,  "we  had  been  talking 
about  the  nature  of  the  effect  of  hypnosis  upon  the 
brain.  The  theory  commonly  accepted  is,  as  you 


MR.  UUNTON'S  INVENTION.  23 

know,  that  it  is  in  the  nature  of  an  inhibition  of 
the  cortical  centers  —  a  shutting-off  of  certain  fac 
ulties,  notably  that  of  self-determination,  thereby 
placing  the  subject  under  the  control  of  the  opera 
tor.  But  this  theory  fails  to  account  for  certain 
observed  phenomena  in  trances ;  there  seems  to  be, 
if  not  actual  initiative  on  the  subject's  part,  at 
least  something  strongly  resembling  independent 
mental  movement.  And  the  doctor  espoused  an 
hypothesis  yet  more  advanced. 

"He  recalled  cases  in  which  the  subject  had 
shown  mental  powers  in  a  trance  superior  to  those 
possessed  in  the  normal  state,  and  he  drew  a  novel 
conclusion  from  this  fact.  'Hypnotism,'  he  said, 
'instead  of  shutting  up  or  crippling  the  mind,  lib 
erates  and  expands  it.  Take  a  great  orator,  for 
example :  when  he  is  surging  for  ward  on  the  waves 
of  eloquence,  carrying  all  hearts  \vith  him,  when  he 
loses  consciousness  of  himself  in  the  grandeur  of  his 
theme,  is  not  he  self-hypnotized  ?  The  speech  over, 
he  cannot  recall  what  he  said;,  he  has  touched  a 
height  be}rond  the  reach  of  art  —  has  spoken  words 
he  never  could  have  spoken  in  cold  blood,  of  design 
aforethought.  Contrast  with  him  the  man  who 
rises  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  to  make  an  after- 
dinner  speech.  Self-consciousness  paralyzes  him; 


24  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

his  own  voice  is  strange  in  his  ears;  his  thoughts 
refuse  to  flow  ;  he  is  bound  hand  and  foot  by  that 
metaphysical  Ego  which  is  the  tyrant  and  curse  of 
humanity.  Pie  is  in  his  normal  state,  and  that  — 
and  not  the  condition  we  call  hypnosis  —  is  truly 
the  state  of  inhibition.  Or  look  at  the  poet  who 
has  written  an  immortal  poem.  He  tells  you  that 
the  verse  was  found  not  made;  it  came  tohim — he 
did  not  consciously  compose  it.  When  he  found  it, 
he  had  forgotten  himself;  and  when  he  returned 
to  himself  he  marvelled  at  what  he  had  done.  I 
tell  you,  genius  itself  is  the  faculty  of  self-hypnoti- 
zation,  and  not  only  that,  but  I  am  convinced  that 
hypnotism  may  produce  the  effects  of  genius  in 
those  who,  in  the  normal  state,  are  commonplace. 
A  man  may  slumber  all  his  lifetime,  and  awrake 
only  in  the  free  world  of  trance.' 

"  'That  is  not  a  theory  to  flatter  one's  vanity,' 
I  ans\vered  him,  'but  you  may  be  right.  I  wash 
that  through  the  trance  I  might  get  insight  to 
solve  my  problem.' 

"He  laughed  and  our  talk  ended.  The  hour  for 
my  daily  treatment  had  come.  She  entered,  and 
in  a  few  moments  my  soul  was  elsewhere.  How 
long  I  remained  unconscious  I  have  never  known.  I 
awoke  in  my  own  house,  and  alone.  I  was  unable 


MR.  DUNTON'S  INVENTION.  25 

to  recall  what  had  happened ;  some  command  of 
oblivion  seemed  to  have  been  laid  upon  me.  I 
could  not  even  recall  the  face  or  the  name  of  the 
woman  I  loved,  or  of  the  doctor.  For  a  time  I 
was  separated  from  that  region  of  my  life,  and 
could  not  find  my  way  back  to  it.  I  suffered  from 
a  vague  distress  and  anxiety  which  I  could  not 
explain  to  myself.  For  a  week  this  blank  ness  con 
tinued,  and  then,  all  at  once,  memory  returned. 
I  went  immediately  to  the  doctor's  house,  but  the 
blinds  were  closed  and  no  one  answered  the  bell. 
On  inquiry,  I  learned  that  the  doctor  and  his 
daughter  had  left  town  several  days  before. 

"I  will  cut  my  story  short,"  added  Dunton, 
emptying  his  \vine  glass.  "  What  my  heart  endured 
vou  can  imagine.  I  could  find  no  trace  of  them, 
nor  could  I  understand  the  reason  of  their  disap 
pearance.  But  one  day  a  friend  told  me  that  an 
invention  similar  to  mine  had  just  been  patented 
at  Washington.  I  was  not  long  in  getting  to 
the  patent  office.  There  I  was  shown  the  model 
and  specifications.  The  invention  was  my  own 
in  every  detail,  but  the  problem  that  had  defeated 
me  was  solved.  For  a  time,  I  was  bewildered; 
but  at  length  the  truth  dawned  on  me.  While  I 
was  in  the  trance,  they  had  led  my  mind  to  my 


2C> 


six  CKXT  SAM'S. 


invention,  and  I  had  been  drawn  on  to  solve  the 
problem.  The  doctor  had  thereupon  appropriated 
it,  and  fled.  Had  he  been  alone,  I  would  have 
pursued  him  to  the  bitter  end  ;  but  it  was  she  who 
had  wrought  the  evil.  I  loved  her;  I  love  her 
still;  and — I  have  done  nothing." 

"Didn't  I   say  it    was   astonish 
ing?"     murmured     Northarru 
"Waiter,  bring  the  other  bottle." 
At  this   juncture  Six   Cent  Sam 
appeared,  with  a  lady. 

She   was  young,  fair,  very 
pale,  and  dressed  in  black. 

"Dunton,"  said  Sam,  "this 
lady  wants  to  speak  to  you." 
Dunton  looked   up  in  sur 
prise;    then  passed  his  hand 
over  his  forehead,  and  cried  : 

"Helen!" 

"He  is  dead,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  husky  voice.. 
"I  have  come  to  give  you  back  your  own.  But,, 
oh,  Edward,  I  did  not  know  what  he  meant  to  do. 
Can  3^ou  forgive  me  ?  " 

"Let's  leave  the  young  folks  alone,  gentlemen,"' 
said  Sam  to  Northam  and  me;  "they  have  other 
problems  to  solve  besides  the  one  you've  just  been> 
hearing  about." 


WE  \vere  four  in  the  club  smoking  room  that 
October  afternoon.  The  weather  was  gusty  and 
inclement,  and  we  were  out  of  sorts.  Perhaps  our 
having  been  up  till  t\vo  or  three  o'clock  the 
night  before  may  have  had  something  to  do  writh 
our  gloomy  sensations.  Twelve  hours  had  elapsed 
since  we  had  left  the  card  table,  and  permitted 
yawning  Thomas  to  go  to  bed.  We  had  dispersed 
to  our  various  abiding  places,  slept  till  noon,  and 
drifted  back  to  the  club  and  breakfast.  Hardly 
anyone  besides  ourselves  was  in  the  house.  It 
was  intolerably  dull.  What  is  one  to  do  in  town 
at  three  o'clock  of  a  rainy  October  afternoon,  after 
being  up  all  night  ? 


27 


28  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

Allardice,  the  man-about-town  par  excellence, 
lay  languid  and  relaxed  in  his  easy-chair,  his  legs 
outstretched,  his  chin  on  his  breast,  and  a  black 
Mexican  cigar  between  his  teeth.  His  prominent 
gray  eyes  were  half  closed,  some  cigar  ashes  lay 
unheeded  011  his  vest,  and  the  light  from  the  win 
dow  was  reflected  dimly  on  the  bald  summit  of  his 
cranium.  Tinling,  the  poet  and  dramatic  critic, 
reclined  on  the  divan,  his  gray,  abundant  hair  con 
trasting  oddly  with  his  smooth  pink-and-white  face; 
the  hand  with  the  big  seal  ring  on  it  lay  romantic 
ally  and  conspicuously  on  his  heart.  Gawtrey  sat 
with  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  his  face  between 
his  hands,  the  small  eyes  in  his  big  fat  countenance 
blinking  stupidly  at  the  fire.  He  and  Tinling  had 
been  wrangling  about  the  merits  or  demerits  of  the 
new  Persian  dancer  who  had  been  attracting  the 
town  for  some  days  past,  and  who  was  being 
advertised,  free  and  other  wise,  to  a  degree  unex 
ampled.  Tinling  had  declared  that  she  was  "the 
peer  —  I  do  not  say  of  Ellsler  or  Taglioni,  but  of 
Salome,  the  daughter  of  Herodias."  Gawtrey  had 
replied  that  he  had  never  seen  the  Herodias  girl,  or 
the  other  two,  either;  but  that  he  could  find 
women  in  any  ordinary  music  hall,  here  or  in  Lon 
don,  who  could  knock  the  stuffing  out  of  Mile. 


GREAVES'  DISAPPEARANCE.  29 

Saki.  Thereupon  fell  a  silence,  finally  broken  by 
Allardice. 

"If  no  one  else  will,  I  suppose  I  must,"  said  he, 

leaning  forward  and  touching  the  electric  bell  in 

the  panel.     "Think  of  what  it's  to  be,  gentlemen." 

We  sighed  and  changed  the  position  of  our  legs. 

"  There  should  be  a  by-law  specifying  the  correct 
drink  for  each  hour  of  the  day,"  said  someone. 
"Up  to  eleven  p.  M.,  at  any  rate,  it's  too  fatiguing 
to  choose  for  one's  self." 

"You  might  always  order  the  same  drink,  you 
know,  like  Greaves," suggested Gawtrey.  "Grand 
Yin  Sec  is  his  tipple,  and  he  never  touches  any 
other." 

"Gawtrey  has  no  discrimination,"  murmured 
Tinling.  "Greaves  has  a  hundred  thousand  a 
year,  youth,  health  and  happiness." 

"No  rose  without  the  thorn,"  said  Allardice. 
"  He's  going  to  get  married." 

"That's  a  pretty  cheap  article  of  cynicism,  even 
before  dinner,"  rejoined  Tinling.  "In  the  first 
place,  the  girl  comes  of  one  of  our  best  families. 
Baddely  was  a  name  famous  in  the  old  country 
centuries  ago,  and  always  respected.  Secondly, 
Miss  Baddely  is  a  mighty  fine  girl,  both  in  looks 


30  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

and  otherwise ;  and  fifthly  and  sixthly,  and  to  con 
clude,  Greaves  is  dead  in  love  with  her." 

"The  Baddely,  is  it?  "  grunted  Gawtrey.  "Why, 
they  don't  amount  to  a  row  of  pins !  Met  the  old 
boy  downtown.  Ain't  worth  a  hundred  thou 
sand." 

"The  greater  her  good  sense,  to  look  with  favor 
on  Greaves'  suit,"  was  contributed  by  Allardice. 

Tinling  closed  his  eyes.  "You  weary  me,"  he 
said.  "She's  the  most  independent  girl  I  know. 
If  anything  could  make  her  jilt  Greaves,  it  would 
be  precisely  his  income.  If  Greaves  were  poor, 
she'd  support  him.  She  thinks  women  ought  to 
support  themselves,  anywray." 

"What  can  she  do  for  a  living?"  someone 
inquired. 

"What  couldn't  she?  Anything, — from  keeping 
a  dancing  school  to  running  an  American  railroad 
system.  She's  got  genius." 

" That's  the  reason  Greaves  didn't  join  us  last 
night,"  remarked  Gawtrey.  "When  a  fellow  gets 
gone  on  a  girl,  he  may  as  well  resign  from  his 
clubs.  But  I  wish  he'd  given  me  my  revenge  first. 
Never  saw  anything  like  the  hands  that  fellow  held 
last  time.  Two  flushes  and  a  four-ace  were  some 
of 'em." 


GREAVES'  DISAPPEARANCE.  31 

"What  is  yours,  sir?  "  inquired  the  pale  but  ever 
respectful  Thomas,  appearing  at  this  juncture. 
Whereupon  we  all  wearily  began  to  try  to  think  of 
something. 

In  the  midst  of  our  deliberations,  in  came  Fred 
'Guise,  looking  quite  pale  and  haggard.  He  nod 
ded  to  us  without  speaking,  and  dropped  into  a 
chair. 

"Just  in  time,"  said  Allardice,  "and  you  look  as 
if  you  needed  it.  Ask  Mr.  Guise  what  he'll  have, 
Thomas." 

"Absinthe  cocktail,"  said  Guise,  -without  falter 
ing.  "I'm  knocked  out.  Haven't  seen  the  color 
of  a  bed  since  night  before  last.  None  of  you  chaps 
have  heard  anything  new  about  him,  of  course?  " 

"Guess  not.    About  whom?" 

"Greaves,  of  course.  Did  you  think  I  meant  the 
Shah  of  Persia?  "  inquired  Guise,  with  a  fine  irony. 

"All  we  know  about  Greaves  here  is,  that  he 
promised  to  be  here  last  night  and  didn't  mate 
rialize,"  said  Gawtrey,  with  a  yawn.  "He  owes 
me  my  revenge — 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  chaps  have  n't  heard?" 
interrupted  Guise,  sitting  up  and  speaking  slowly, 
as  if  astonishment  weighted  his  utterance.  "  Why 
it's  nearlv  a  dav  old  !  " 


32  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

"Is  its  father  known?"  asked  Allardice,  lan 
guidly. 

".What's  the  matter,  Fred?  "  demanded  Tinling, 
struck  by  something  peculiar  in  Guise's  manner. 
"We've  only  just  got  up,  you  know,  and  you're 
the  first  man  that's  come  in  since — 

"Why,  good  God,  the  man's  disappeared," 
exclaimed  Guise,  always  in  his  characteristic  low 
but  distinct  voice.  "He  vanished  like  the  blowing 
out  of  a  candle !  He  was  with  me  one  moment, 
and  the  next,  he  was — well,  he  was  gone !  " 

"I  say,"  grunted  Gawtrey,  "draw  it  mild. 
What  are  you  giving  us  ?  " 

"What  are  the  circumstances?  How  disap 
peared?  When?  Where?"  put  in  Titiling,  erect 
ing  himself,  and  shaking  back  his  long  gray  hair. 

"Why,  I  supposed  the  report  would  have  got 
here  the  first  thing.  It's  the  most  inexplicable 
thing  I  ever  came  across.  Let  me  see — to  begin  at 
the  beginning,  I'd  breajkfasted  with  him  in  the  fore 
noon  yesterday  at  his  rooms.  He  \vas  quite  jolly 
— rather  more  so  than  usual,  I  thought.  I  took  it 
for  natural  high  spirits — going  to  be  married  soon, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know.  But  I've 
thought  since  it  may  have  been  excitement 
from  some  other  cause,  you  know.  He  talked  a  bit 


GREAVES'  DISAPPEARANCE.  33 

about  his  private  affairs, — we're  pretty  intimate, 
you  know, — but  nothing  was  said  in  particular 
that  I  remember.  We  talked  of  the  Ingledew's 
ball,  and  that  escapade  of  Mrs.  Revell's,  you  know, 
and  that  Mile.  Saki,  the  Persian  dancer, — whom 
he  did  n't  seem  to  think  much  of,  by  the  by, — and 
of  the  gold-find  in  Alaska;  he  said  he  thought 
that  looked  promising,  and  that  he  might  like  to 
take  some  stock  in  that ;  and  then  — 

"For  pity's  sake,  do  tell  us  the  story  first,  and 
we  can  join  you  in  your  comments  afterward," 
someone  exclaimed.  "Get  to  the  point,  can't 
you?" 

"I  was  only  trying  to  recall  anything  that  might 
possibly  throw  some  light  on  the  thing,  you 
know,"  rejoined  Fred, unhurriedly.  "I  can't  make 
out  any  motive  for  it  myself.  Everything  was  all 
right  about  him  —  property,  health,  love  affair  — 
well,  everything.  And  it's  inconceivable  to  me 
that  he  could  have  planned  anything  beforehand— 
to  make  away  with  himself,  or  am^thing  of  that 
sort;  but  then  it's  even  more  inconceivable  he 
should  have  vanished  involuntarily,  don't  you 
know.  I  can't  make  it  out,"  and  here  Fred 
accepted  the  absinthe  cocktail  that  Thomas  silently 

3 


34  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

extended  to  him,  and  emptied  it  with  deliberate 
circumspection. 

Allardice  elevated  one  eyebrow,  and  hunted  in 
his  pocket  for  a  cigar.  "  Take  your  time,  my  dear 
boy,"  said  he.  "We've  got  the  afternoon  before 
us,  and  we're  none  of  us  curious.  Won't  you  take 
another  absinthe  before  you  continue?  " 

Guise  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  seemed  to  consult 
his  memory,  and  finally  went  on: 

"Well,  after  breakfast,  you  know,  we  lay  about 
for  a  while,  looking  over  his  books  and  pictures, 
and  talking  philosophy  and  art.  Toward  three  or 
four  o'clock — just  about  this  time,  you  know, — we 
agreed  to  go  out  for  a  little  stroll.  It  looked  as  if 
it  might  rain,  and  Greaves  put  on  a  light  gray 
Mackintosh  overcoat,  that  he'd  just  had  over  from 
London, —  rather  a  peculiar  looking  thing  it  was, 
by  the  by, —  and  a  soft  felt  hat,  and  out  we  went. 
We  turned  into  BroadwTay,  and  walked  on  the  west 
side  up  past  the  hotels  toward  Thirty-Fourth 
street.  There  were  comparatively  few  people  out. 
I  remember  we  passed  a  long  file  of  those  sand 
wich  men,  you  know,  with  Persian  turbans  on, 
and  boards  with  Saki's  portrait  on  them.  She's 
at  the  Fifth  Avenue,  you  know.  Just  as  we  reached 
the  corner  of  Twenty-Eighth  street,  we  came 


GREAVES'  DISAPPEARANCE. 


35 


across  a  bit  of  an  excitement.     There  was  a  man 

running  down  the  middle  of  the  street,  with  his  hat 

in  his  hand,  and  making 

good  time;  and  about  a 

dozen  yards   behind  him 

-were  a  couple  of  bobbies.     •/ 

Greaves    and    I    stopped 

on  the  corner,  to  see  what 

(I 
would  happen.     Greaves    f-\ 

£,) 
said  he  was  a  fool  to  run    $ 

in  that  direction,  because  / 
he  could  never  get  across 
Broadway.  The  bobbies 
thought  so,  too,  I  fancy, 
and  it  threw  them  off 
their  guard.  Almost  at 
the  entrance  of  the  street 
the  chap  turned  like  a  flash,  and  dashed  straight 
at  them.  Before  they  knew  where  they  were  he 
had  tripped  them  both  and  sent  them  sprawling, 
and  was  flying  up  the  street.  Half  way  along  the 
"block  there's  an  empty  house,  going  to  be  torn 
down.  The  basement  door  was  open  and  he  went 
through  it,  and  that  was  the  last  ever  seen  of  him, 
I  fancy.  I  turned  round  to  Greaves,  who  had 
spoken  to  me,  you  know,  just  the  instant  before, 


36  SIX   CENT   SAM  S. 

and  saw  him  across  the  other  side  of  Broadway, 
walking  on  toward  Thirtieth.  There  he  was,  you 
know,  in  his  gray  mackintosh  and  soft  felt  hat.  I 
hurried  to  catch  up  with  him,  and  took  his  arm.  I 
said,  'He  was  no  fool,  after  all,  that  chap.  I  fancy 
he  must  have  played  on  a  football  team.' 

"That's  what  I  said,  and  then  Greaves  pulled 
away  his  arm  and  turned  round  on  me,  and  you  may 
imagine  I  was  surprised  when  I  found  it  wasn't 
Greaves  at  all,  nor  anyone  a  bit  like  him.  It  was 
a  fellow  of  fifty,  with  a  stubble  of  gray  beard  a 
week  old,  a  red  potato  nose,  and  one  eye  gone.  '  I 
beg  your  pardon,  young  fellow,'  he  said  to  me,  'I 
guess  you've  made  a  mistake.' 

"Well,  you  know,  at  first  I  didn't  think  so  much 
of  it;  I'd  been  misled  by  the  similarity  of  dress, 
that  was  all.  Greaves  must  be  somewhere,  of 
course,  and  close  at  hand,  too;  it  was  hardly 
thirty  seconds  since  he'd  spoken  to  me,  and  there 
were  only  three  directions  in  which  he  could  have 
gon^ — up  Broadway,  or  down  or  up  the  side  street 
toward  Fifth  avenue.  If  he  had  gone  down  the 
street  toward  Sixth  avenue  I  should  have  seen  him, 
for  that  was  the  direction  I'd  been  looking.  But  the 
Broad  way  sidewalks  in  both  directions  were  nearly 
empty,  the  crowd  having  run  down  Twenty- 


GREAVES'  DISAPPEARANCE.  37 

-Eighth  after  the  fellow  and  the  bobbies.  There 
was  nobody  going  toward  Fifth  avenue  either,  and 
he  couldn't  have  got  away  more  than  a  dozen 
rods,  anyhow.  I  should  have  recognized  him  at 
any  distance  in  that  gray  Mackintosh.  It  was 
true,  he  might  have  gone  into  some  shop,  so  I 
looked  into  all  of  them  up  and  down  the  blocks, 
but  it  was  no  use.  Unless  he'd  dropped  through  a 
manhole  in  the  pavement,  there  was  nowhere  he 
could  have  gone ;  but  he  was  gone  just  the  same. 
There  never  was  a  disappearance  on  the  stage 
managed  quicker  or  neater,  or  half  so  inexplicable. 
I  began  to  feel  mighty  queer  about  it  —  something 
as  if  I'd  seen  a  ghost.  Here  was  an  effect  without 
a  cause.  I  assure  you  it  was  as  unpleasant  a 
shock  as  ever  I  had  in  my  life." 

We  all  stared  at  one  another.  At  last  Gawtrey 
said: 

"See  here,  Fred,  make  a  clean  breast  of  it;  how 
many  bottles  of  the  Grand  Yin  Sec  did  you  polish 
off  at  the  breakfast?" 

"I'm  entirely  serious, gentlemen, "returned  Fred, 
gravely ;  "  and  recollect,  even  if  Greaves  could  have 
eluded  me  in  any  ordinary  way,  he  would  still  have 
been  heard  from  somewhere  by  this  time.  But  he's 
given  no  sign.  Whether  he  went  voluntarily  or 


38  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

not,  he's  vanished,  and  I'm  afraid  when  news  does- 
come  it  will  not  be  the  sort  of  news  we  shall  like  to 
hear." 

Gawtrey  now  poured  his  pony  of  brandy  into  a 
tumbler,  added  a  dash  of  water,  swallowed  the 
mixture,  looked  in  the  bottom  of  the  glass  for 
inspiration,  and  said,  "I  do  n't  believe,  for  my  part, 
that  Greaves  has  been  kidnapped  in  broad  da\r- 
light  in  the  center  of  New  York ;  and  on  the  other 
hand,  I  don't  believe  in  miracles — this  year,  any 
way.  What  he  did,  depend  upon  it,  was  just  to 
step  quietly  out  of  sight  somewhere,  when  you 
were  n't  looking.  Probably  he  saw  Miss  Baddely 
on  a  horse  car,  and  boarded  it  to  join  her." 

"There's  something  in  that  idea,"  said 
A  Hard  ice. 

Guise  shook  his  head.  "There  wasn't,  as  it 
happens,  a  single  "car  passing,  for  there  was  a 
block  across  both  tracks  at  Twenty-Fifth  street. 
And  as  for  Miss  Baddely,  I  afterward  ascertained 
that  she  was  at  home  at  the  time.  No,  gentlemen  ; 
ordinary  explanations  won't  work.  Last  evening, 
I  went  down  and  had  a  talk  with  Inspector 
Byrnes,  and  he  has  put  two  of  his  best  men  on  the 
case.  But  they  had  found  out  nothing  when  I 
looked  in  at  Headquarters  just  now. 


GREAVES'  DISAPPEARANCE.  39 

"You  called  011  Miss  Baddely,  did  you?  How 
does  she  take  it?  "  inquired  Tinling. 

"  I  saw  her  father;  she  was  not  to  be  seen.  Of 
course  they  are  all  upset.  I  told  him  all  I've  told 
you.  He  said  one  thing — the  old  man  did — that 
struck  me  as  a  bit  odd ;  he  said  that  both  his 
daughter  and  Greaves  were  persons  of  arbitrary 
will  and  extraordinary  whims.  They  were  capa 
ble  of  almost  anything.  If  one  of  them  did  a  crazy 
thing,  the  other  would  be  apt  to  do  something  to 
cap  it.  He  said  he  had  no  control  over  either  of 
'em,  and  never  had  had.  But  he  said  this  last 
business  did  surprise  him.  I  thought  that  was 
queer  language  to  use  on  such  an  occasion.  It 
might  mean  that  he  suspected  something." 

"A  quarrel,  for  instance,  and  desperation  on 
Greaves'  part." 

"A  wager  of  some  kind,  maybe." 

"I  never  did  think  much  of  that  fellow  Baddely. 
He's  a  poor  sort  of  an  old  dude.  Where  does  he 
get  his  pocket  money  from  ?  He  never  made  a  cent 
in  his  life.  Shouldn't  wonder  if  his  daughter  sup- 
. ported  him  somehow.  Takes  in  sewing  on  the 
quiet,  or  paints  fans,  or  gives  music  lessons.  Rum 
things  go  on  in  some  of  these  old  families."  It  was 
Gawtrey  who  made  these  observations. 


40  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

"Upon  the  whole,"  said  another  of  the  party, 
"it  looks  to  me  as  if  Greaves'  kidnapper  must 
have  been  Greaves  himself.  But  how  he  arranged 
it — the  circumstances  being  what  they  were — I 
can't  figure  out.  My  impression  is,  Guise  should 
have  followed  up  that  fellow  in  the  gray  Mackin 
tosh." 

"I  agree  with  the  last  honorable  member,"  said 
Tinling.  "Such  a  coincidence  as  that  similarity  of 
costume  is  too  remarkable  not  to  be  suspicious. 
Looks  like  a  plot  of  some  sort.  But  there's  noth 
ing  to  throw  any  light  on  his  motive." 

"Let's  have  another  drink,"  said  Gawtrey. 
"What  are  we  going  to  do  this  evening." 

"I  am  going  to  the  Fifth  Avenue  to  see  Saki," 
said  Allardice.  "Your  talk  about  her  has  aroused 
my  curiosity.  I  saw  some  oriental  dancers  at  the 
Paris  Exhibition  a  while  ago,  and  I'd  like  to  see 
how  she  compares  with  them." 

The  evening  papers  had  just  been  brought  in, 
and  I  had  picked  up  one  of  them.  A  paragraph 
headed  "Illness  of  the  Persian  Dancer" caught  my 
eye. 

"She  won't  appear  this  evening,"  said  I.  "It 
says :  '  Mile.  Saki  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  sprain 
her  ankle  yesterda\-  while  alighting  from  her 


GREAVES'  DISAPPEARANCE.  41 

carriage.  While  the  injury  is  not  regarded  as 
serious,  it  will  prevent  her  from  dancing  this  even 
ing.  Tickets  purchased  in  advance  will  be  accepted 
for  later  dates." 

"Nothing  in  the  paper  about  Greaves?"  asked 
Tiiiling. 

"Seems  not." 

Soon  after  we  broke  up,  and  drifted  away  in 
various  directions,  somewhat  preoccupied  with 
speculations  about  Greaves. 

The  next  morning,  however,  the  papers  were  full 
of  the  story,  and  though  no  light  was  thrown 
upon  the  manner  of  Greaves'  disappearance, 
•certain  facts  of  interest  were  mentioned.  On  the 
very  day  before  his  disappearance,  it  appears,  he 
had  executed  a  deed  con  veying  the  bulk  of  his  large 
property  to  Sophie  Baddery.  This  deed  was  not  a 
will,  but  a  deed  of  gift  simply.  Its  provisions  went 
into  effect  immediately,  and,  in  view  of  what  had 
•occurred,  one  could  not  help  suspecting  that 
Greaves  had  prepared  it  as  part  of  a  predeter 
mined  scheme  of  action,  whether  of  suicide  or 
something  else.  And  here  there  was  a  coincidence 
that  drew  my  attention.  The  "indisposition"  of 
Mile.  Saki  corresponded  very  nearly  with  the  dis 
appearance  of  Greaves.  She  had  not  returned  to 


42  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

the  theater  since  the  evening  of  that  occurrence, 
and  it  was  now  stated  that  her  absence  might  be 
prolonged  for  a  week.  I  knew  from  Guise,  the 
most  intimate  friend  that  Greaves  had,  that  the 
latter  had  been  several  times  to  see  Saki  dance, 
and  that  he  had  betrayed  rather  marked  interest 
in  her  performance.  Mr.  Baddely  had  said  that 
his  intending  son-in-law  was  capable  of  strange 
escapades ;  was  it  possible,  then,  that  he  and  the 
too-fascinating  Persian  had  eloped  together, — he 
having  first  salved  his  conscience  by  bestowing  his 
wealth  upon  the  woman  he  was  abandoning? 
Moreover,  Tinling  having  made  inquiries  at  the 
theater,  brought  news  that  there  was  now  no 
prospect  of  Saki's  returning  at  all;  on  the  con 
trary,  her  agent  had  paid  a  heavy  forfeit,  and  she 
had  departed  none  knew  whither.  The  sprained 
ankle  was  obviously  a  fiction.  Of  course,  the 
manner  in  which  Greaves  had  effected  his  exit  was 
no  less  than  ever  a  mystery.  A  conceivable  motive 
had  been  suggested,  that  was  all. 


The  establishment  known  as  Six  Cent  Sam's 
extends  clear  through  the  narrow  block  in  which 
it  stands,  and  has  an  entrance  in  the  street  on  the 


GREAVES'  DISAPPEARANCE.  43 

other  side,  a  fact  not  generally  known.  For  the 
rear  face  of  the  eatirrg  house  is  a  pawnship,  kept, 
as  the  sign  board  indicates,  "by  one  Samuel  Jona 
than,  who  is,  in  fact,  no  other  than  Six  Geat  Sam 
himself;  and  to  the  initiated  there  is  a  passageway 
leading  out  of  the  pawnshop  into  the  eating  house. 
I  am  of  the  initiated;  and  as  I  was  passing  down 
this  passage  on  the  day  after  the  scene  at  the  club, 
I  met  Sam, —  or  Mr.  Jonathan, —  and  he  said: 

"Turn  back,  sir;  I've  something  to  say  to  you." 
I  followed  him  into  the  office  of  the  pawn 
shop,  where  we  sat  down. 

"One  way  or  another,"  began  Sam,  "I  hear  a 
good  deal  of  what's  going  on.  Pawnshops  and 
eating  houses  bring  news.  Now,  there's  young 
Greaves,  for  instance." 

I  became  interested  at  once.  Sam  is  always 
interesting. 

"When  last  seen,"  continued  the  latter,  "had  on 
gray  mackintosh  and  soft  hat.  Could  you  iden 
tify  them?  Look  at  these,"  and  from  a  shelf  he 
drew  out  just  such  an  English-made  garment  as 
Guise  had  described  to  us,  with  the  hat  to  match. 

"He's  been  here,  then?  "  I  asked. 

Sam  shook  his  head,  and  went  on  in  his  terse, 
deep-toned  way.     "A  fellow  came  here  yesterday 


44  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

with  a  carbuncle  on  his  nose,  and  a  game  eye. 
Had  these  duds  under  his  arm ;  wanted  to  sell 
'em.  How  did  he  come  by  'em  ?  Gent  had  given 
'em  to  him.  How  and  why?  Oh,  quite  a  }rarn. 
Gent  met  him  on  street  doing  sandwich  act  for 
Fifth  Avenue  Theatre.  Pursuant  to  bargain  then 
and  there  made,  and  instructions  given,  met  him 
again  next  day,  same  place.  Another  gent  along. 
Disturbance  on  street ;  other  man's  attention  dis 
tracted;  garments  exchanged  inside  ten  seconds. 
Gent,  in  sandwiches,  marches  down  street  after 
other  sandwiches ;  no  one  ever  thinks  of  looking 
at  face  of  sandwich,  only  the  announcement  on 
board.  Thus  gent  became  invisible,  and  has  so 
remained." 

So  this  was  the  simple  but  ingenious  solution  of 
the  puzzle. 

"And  where  is  Greaves  now, and  what  did  he  do 
it  for?  "I  asked. 

Sam  looked  me  straight  in  the  face  with  his  pow 
erful  eyes. 

"Where's  Saki?  "  he  replied. 

"So  they're  together  after  all?"  said  I,  rather 
vain  of  my  insight. 

"  Guess  not ;  but  the\-  ought  to  be." 


GREAVES'    DISAPPEARANCE.  45 

That  was  a  queer  thing  to  say,  and  I  stared  at 
Sam  without  answering. 

"Newspapers  say  he  gave  a  pot  of  money  to 
Miss  Baddely,"  resumed  the  latter.  "  Proud,  indfe- 
pendent  girl,  father  poor.  She  wrill  be  beholden  to 
nobody,  not  even  Greaves.  Wanted  to  support 
herself.  Greaves  objects  ;  quarrel.  Now,  if  Greaves 
were  to  make  away  writh  himself,  after  deeding 
property  to  her,  she  would  naturally  give  up  her 
scheme  of  earning  her  own  living.  Do  you  see 
how  the  cat  is  going  to  jump  ?  " 

"You  think  Greaves  has  committed  suicide?  " 

Sam  gave  me  a  reproachful  glance.  "  Was  n't  I 
asking  to  bring  him  and  Saki  together  ?  Do  you 
know  either  of  the  ladies  ?  " 

"Either  of  them?" 

"Well,  do  you  know  Saki?"  said  Sam,  a  trifle 
impatiently. 

"No,  I  don't." 

"Nor  Miss  Baddely?" 

"I  haven't  that  pleasure." 

"I'll  introduce  you  to  both  of  them.  We'll  go 
now.  Great  friends ;  alw ays  together." 

' '  Who  ?    Miss  Baddely  and  Saki  ?  ' ' 

"The  same." 

"WThat  are  we  to  do  there?  " 


46  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

"I  want  'em  to  settle  which  of  'em's  to  marry 
Greaves." 

"Is  Greaves  in  love  with  both  of  them?  '* 

"That's  his  fix,  precisely." 

"  And  they  with  him  ?  " 

"That's  what  I'm  figuring  on." 

"And  you  expect  them  to  agree  \vhich  of 
them — 

"We  have  to  hurry,"  remarked  Sam,  rising. 
"Let  me  get  into  a  clean  shirt,  and  we're  off."  He 
stepped  into  a  side  room  as  he  spoke,  and  shut  the 
door. 

I  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  it,  but  I  knew 
enough  of  Sam  to  know  that  he,  who  knew  every 
thing  and  everybody,  from  a  pawn-shop  habitue 
to  a  wealthy  club  man,  was  not  acting  in  the 
dark.  In  a  few  minutes  he  reappeared,  in  the  garb 
of  a  well-to-do  man-about-town.  Silk  hat,  prince 
albert  coat,  striped  trousers,  white  scarf,  yellow 
gloves,  and  silver-headed  umbrella.  Not  a  finer 
gentleman  in  the  city. 

"We'll  look  up  Mlle.Saki  first,"  he  said,  as  we 
sallied  forth  together.  "Do  you  speak  Persian 
fluently?  Never  mind,  she  speaks  as  good  English 
.as  you  or  I  do,  and  is  a  very  intelligent  woman." 

To  us,  awaiting  her  in  a  tasteful  but  simple  sit- 


GREAYE  S   DISAPPEARANCE. 


47 


ting  room  tip-town,  entered  the  famous  Persian 
dancer.  She  was  a  handsome  brunette,  with 
superb  black  eyes  and  hair.  Her  figure  and  bear 
ing  were  all  grace  and  elegance.  She  was  plainly 
dressed,  and  looked,  as  Sam  had  said,  very  intelli 
gent. 

"Now,  Mademoiselle,"  said  Sam,  after  the  greet 
ings  were  over,  "I  have  called  as  your  manager,  to 
learn  what  you  want  to  do.  You  may  speak  freely 
before  this  gentleman." 

"Tell  me  first  what  has  become  of  him?  "she 
replied,  in  a  slightly  tremulous  voice.  "I  cannever 
forgive  myself.  Is  he — 

"He  is  a  pig-headed  donkey,  if  you  must  have 


my  opinion, 
as  well  as  such 
Now, 
him,  or 


returned  Sam.  "And  he's 
a  monster  deserves  to  be. 
shall  we  temporize  with 
shall  we  keep  on  our 
course  and  let  him  go 
to — '      Sam's  finger 
at  this  juncture  was 
pointing    down 
ward. 

"Temporize    with 
him?      I'll  go  down 
on  my  knees  to  him  if  he  will  but  give  me  the 


48  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

chance.  He  was  right  from  the  beginning,  and  I 
was  wrong.  I  saw  that  almost  from  the  first — long 
before  this  terrible  thing  happened.  But  for  my 
miserable  obstinacy,  I'd  have  given  it  up  then.  I  had 
no  conception  what  the  life  was  till  I  had  tried  it. 
It  was  an  awful  lesson.  I  shall  never  forget  it.  I 
feel  as  if  I  had  actually  clone  all  the  bad  things 
every  one  seemed  to  suspect  me  of.  And  yet,  when 
I  was  looking  forward  to  it,  it  all  appeared  good 
and  right.  I  thought  I  would  elevate  and  ennoble 
my  art.  But  the  world  is  hard." 

"Well,  it  is  unless  we  take  it  the  right  way," 
said  Sam.  "  The  best  way  to  find  out  is  to  make 
experiments.  I  helped  you  to  do  that,  and  you're 
the  better  for  it,  because  you  now  know  what  you 
would  never  have  believed  if  it  had  been  told  \TOU. 
Some  girls  go  through  life  believing  all  they  are 
told,  good  or  bad,  but  you're  not  that  sort.  You 
can  do  other  things  just  as  clever  as  dancing,  and 
not  so  open  to  remarks.  For  one  thing,  you  can 
make  a  man  happy,  and  bring  up  his  children." 

Mile.  Saki  blushed,  and  tears  stood  in  her  eyes. 

"It's  too  late  to  think  of  that  now,"  she  said. 
"He  must  dispise  me  and  hate  me;  he  couldn't 
help  it." 


GREAVES'    DISAPPEARANCE.  49 

"Pooh!  besides,  there  are  other  men  in  the 
world  as  good  as  he,  and  a  great  deal  better." 

"You  know  that  is  not  so,"  exclaimed  Mile. 
Saki,  with  a  naive  indignation  that  was  enchant 
ing.  "  I  should  like  to  see  him  again,  though,  just 
once,"  she  added,  "to  tell  him  how  sorry  and 
ashamed  I  am,  and  to  ask  his  forgiveness." 

"I  guess  it  would  be  more  politic  for  you  to  for 
give  him,"  said  Sam,  with  a  smile.  "However, 
we'll  see  what  can  be  done,"  and  thereupon  we 

took  our  leave. 

*    *    * 

It  was  a  mysterious  affair  altogether,  and  has 
never  been  cleared  up  to  this  day.  As  everybody 
knows,  Greaves  is  married,  but  he  married  Miss 
Sophie  Baddely.  Mile.  Saki  was  never  again  heard 
of.  It  is  the  impression  among  the  general  public 
that  she  returned  to  Paris.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
I  saw  Mrs.  Greaves  driving  out  in  the  park  the 
other  day  with  her  husband,  and  remarked  that 
the  lady  bore  a  striking  resemblance  to  the  Persian 
dancer.  Guise  and  Tinling,  however,  have  never 
spoken  of  any  likeness.  No  doubt,  she  must  have 
looked  very  different  in  her  Persian  costume  from 
what  she  did  in  the  plain  American  dress  that  she 
wore  when  I  saw  her. 


RAXWORTHY'S    TREASURE. 


HIS  story,  as  I  now  have 
reason  to  believe,  began  with 
an  unconsidered  interview 
between  my  friend  Six  Cent  Sam 
and  a  meager  elderly  lady  in  a 
black  gown.  The  interview 
took  place  in  a  compartment 
of  the  pawnshop  annex.  I  was 
passing  through  the  passage 
on  my  way  to  the  eating  room, 
and  supposed  that  the  elderly  female  of  whom  I 
caught  a  glimpse  was  negotiating  an  ordinary 
loan.  In  the  light  of  some  things  that  have 
occurred  since,  I  am  now  inclined  to  think  other 
wise.  In  the  eating  room,  I  found  Raxworthy 
lunching  on  bean  soup  and  bread ;  and  I  sat  down 
at  the  same  table  with  him.  To  those  who  know 
Raxworthy,  I  need  not  say  that  I  did  not  expect 
him  to  put  my  account  on  his  check.  For  the 
information  of  other  persons  I  will  give  some 
account  of  who  Raxworthy  was. 

51 


52  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

He  was  (and  is)  the  son  of  an  English  artist,  the 
descendant  of  a  family  of  English  gentlemen.  The 
first  emigrant  to  America  was  this  Raxworthy's. 
father.  He  came  hither  in  his  early  manhood,  and 
made  money  out  of  real  estate  which  he  had  inad 
vertently  bought.  He  died  rich,  and  his  son  got 
all  the  property.  There  is  in  England,  not  far 
from  London,  a  venerable  town  called  Isle  worth, 
and  in  the  pages  of  its  history  those  who  will  may 
read  the  history  of  old  Jasper  Rax  worthy,  "The 
Miser  of  Isleworth."  Our  man  is  not  only  the 
great-grandson  of  Jasper,  but  he  inherits  his  idio 
syncrasy.  He  is  a  miser,  and  quite  as  picturesque 
and  irrational  as  him  of  tradition.  He  thus 
affords  unfailing  entertainment  to  his  friends. 

He  is  about  thirty  years  old,  thin,  pale,  tall,  and 
with  no  hair  to  speak  of.  His  hands  are  long, 
bloodless,  and  knotty  at  the  finger-joints.  In  dis 
position  he  is  exceedingly  amiable,  laughing  read 
ily  in  a  thin,  high  cackle,  while  hundreds  of  fine 
wrinkles  spring  up  around  his  eyes  and  mouth. 
His  conversation  is  as  amiable  and  also  as  thin 
as  his  laugh,  and  is  largely  devoted  to  accounts, 
of  things  he  has  done  which  he  thinks  devilish 
clever,  but  which,  to  impartial  minds,  have  more  or 
less  of  the  ludicrous. 


RAXVVOKTHY'S  TREASURE.  53 

For  example :  he  was  once  engaged  to  marry  a 
young  woman,  for  no  better  reason,  as  I  believe, 
than  that  he  thought  her  an  economical  house 
keeper.  She  was  poor,  and  he  bought  her  a  gown 
to  be  married  in  —  not  a  regular  wedding  dress, 
but  a  useful  costume,  that  \vould  be  available  for 
general  purposes  for  years  to  come.  At  or  about 
this  juncture,  the  lady  wrote  to  break  off  the 
engagement.  Raxworthy  accepted  the  mitten 
philosophically,  but  demanded  of  his  lost  love  that 
she  return  the  gown.  She  did  return  it,  and  he 
has  kept  it  ever  since,  not  as  a  memento  of  a 
buried  romance,  but  as  a  convenient  thing  to  have 
on  hand  in  case  he  should  want  to  make  another 
attempt  to  enter  the  hymeneal  state.  Dollars  to 
cents  that  if  he  ever  does  marry,  his  wife  will  be 
selected  primarily  on  the  basis  of  her  fitness  for 
the  gown. 

Raxworthy  also  inherits  artistic  tastes,  and  is  a 
diligent  collector  of  works  of  art  and  virtu  of  all 
kinds.  The  price  he  paid  for  each  is  affixed  to  it, 
and  he  discourses  on  the  profit  at  which  he  could 
sell  it  again.  But  the  most  remarkable  of  his 
hoards  is  that  which  consists  wholly  of  gold  and 
jewels ;  gold  coins  of  all  ages,  gold  nuggets,  gold 
ornaments  of  historic  as  well  as  intrinsic  value, 


54  SIX   CENT   SAM  S 

pieces  of  gold  plate— in  short,  gold  in  every  shape- 
Then  there  are  precious  stones,  in  settings,  sepa 
rate,  and  in  the  rough,  including  many  antiques, 
the  whole  making  a  pile  big  enough  to  fill  a  steel- 
bound  strong  box,  two  feet  wide  by  eighteen  inches 
long  and  one  foot  deep.  This  treasure  must  be 
worth  a  great  many  thousand  dollars,  and  the 
anomaly  is  that  it  lies  there  in  the  strong-box,  col 
lecting  no  interest.  Raxworthy,  when  attacked 
on  this  point,  offers  various  excuses,  but  the  fact 
is,  he  is  a  victim  to  the  true  miser's  mania  for 
gloating  over  treasure.  It  is  heaven  to  him  to  sit 
over  the  box,  and  plunge  both  his  hands  into 
jingling  piles  of  Spanish  doubloons,  Roman  coins  of 
the  Empire,  American  double  eagles,  odds  and  ends 
of  precious  metals,  diamonds,  rubies  and  all  the 
rest  of  it,  and  to  feel  those  concrete  symbols  of 
wealth  in  his  actual  grasp.  Usury  has  its  charms ; 
to  dip  fingers  in  the  glittering  heaps  of  solid  lucre 
is  a  distinct  and  solid  peculiar  ecstacy,  which  3-0 ur 
genuine,  thoroughbred  miser  cannot  deny  himself. 
Auromania  is  as  real  a  disease  as  dipsomania,  and 
as  inaccessible  to  reason.  Moreover,  Raxworthy 's 
strong-box  is  a  constant  menace  to  his  safety  and 
peace  of  mind,  for  he  insists  on  keeping  it  in  his 
own  house  instead  of  in  a  safetv  vault.  He  must 


RAXWORTHY'S  TREASURE.  55 

have  it  ever  ready  at  hand,  as  the  toper  his  bottle. 
Nay,  he  must  occasionally  speak  of  it  to  other 
people,  and  even  display  it  to  them ;  and  the  fame 
of  it  has  traveled  further  than  he  perhaps  suspects. 
Not  long  ago,  for  instance,  he  received  a  letter 
written  on  paper  bearing  the  imprint  of  the  corre 
spondence  department  of  the  famous  Green  Vaults 
of  Dresden,  and  signed  by  a  gentleman  as  curator. 
In  this  communication,  permission  was  asked  to 
examine  his  treasure,  with  a  view  to  the  possible 
purchase  of  it.  Raxworthy  was  very  vain  of  this 
evidence  of  distinction,  as  he  considered  it,  and 
when,  in  due  course  of  time,  the  eminent  curator 
and  his  private  secretary  arrived  in  New  York,  our 
friend  spent  several  hours  in  showing  them  his  col 
lection.  The  curator,  who,  it  appears,  was  a  Ger 
man  of  a  morbid  and  ultra-cautious  cast  of  mind, 
as  befitted  a  gentleman  entrusted  with  the  custo 
dianship  of  the  Green  Vaults,  pointed  out  to  Rax 
worthy  the  folly  of  permitting  his  treasure  to 
remain  exposed  to  the  perils  of  theft  and  fire ;  but 
Raxworthy  displayed  arrangements  in  the  way  of 
locks,  bars,  spring  guns,  and  electric  alarms,  and 
proved  the  fallacy  of  the  timid  foreigner's  misgiv 
ings.  A  discussion  then  arose  as  to  the  cash  value 
of  the  collection,  and  Raxworthy  named  a  price 


56  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

more  than  twice  as  high  as  he  really  believed  the 
things  to  be  worth.  The  curator,  on  the  other 
hand,  declared  he  was  not  authorized  to  offer  more 
than  an  amount  which  appeared  to  Raxworth}^ 
ludicrously  inadequate.  They  dickered  over  the 
matter  like  a  couple  of  Pennsylvania  Dutchmen 
over  a  horse  trade,  and  after  several  days,  they 
seemed  not  much  nearer  a  settlement  .than  at  the 
start.  I  was  inclined  to  think  that  the  entire 
affair  was  of  a  somewhat  Pickwickian  complexion  ; 
that  is  to  say,  I  doubted  whether  the  party  of  the 
first  part  had  any  serious  intention  to  purchase ; 
and  I  was  morally  certain  that  had  Raxworthy 
been  conceded  the  whole  amount  of  his  first  demand 
he  would  have  found  some  pretext  for  wriggling 
out  of  the  bargain.  At  all  events  the  foreigners 
finally  retired,  with  many  courteous  expressions 
of  esteem,  promising  to  confer  with  their  superiors, 
and  communicate  the  latter's  ultimatum  to 
Raxworthy.  Nobody  seriously  imagined  that 
anything  more  would  ever  be  heard  of  the  subject ; 
though  Raxworthy  himself  pretended  that  he 
anticipated  receiving  an  autograph  letter  from 
the  king  of  Saxony,  offering  him  all  the  money  he 
asked  for,  and  the  Cross  of  the  Saxon  Order  of 
Merit  into  the  bargain.  In  fact,  Raxworthy,  like 


KAXWOKTHY'S  TREASURE.  57 

man}'  other  people  of  eccentric  and  solitary  life, 
•enjoyed  living  in  a  sort  of  fairyland  of  his  own 
creation,  and  foisting  upon  himself  the  most  fan 
tastic  delusions.  And  this,  by  the  way,  leads  me 
to  speak  of  an  aspect  of  his  character  which  some 
times  led  him  into  quaint  predicaments. 

Raxworthy  was  a  confirmed  Spiritualist.  He 
-did  not  say  much  about  it,  but  those  who  knew 
him,  knew  that  such  was  the  fact.  He  consulted 
mediums  and  astrologers  on  business  questions, 
and,  what  is  more  singular,  he  not  seldom  took 
their  advice.  Whether  or  not  the  advice  always 
turned  out  well,  I  don't  know,  but  he  never  said 
anything  to  the  contrary.  There  is  no  accounting 
for  such  vagaries.  They  are  constantly  observed 
in  men  otherwise  shrewd  and  hard-headed.  It 
may  be  the  result  of  an  instinctive  reaction  against 
the  despotism  of  the  concrete  and  rational.  I  will 
now  relate  an  instance  of  Raxworthy's  spiritual 
istic  experience,  which  is  not  only  curious  but 
rather  romantic  as  well. 

In  the  first  place  I  must  go  back  to  Six  Cent 
Sam's  eating  house,  where,  when  this  long  digres 
sion  began,  I  was  on  the  point  of  sitting  down 
at  Raxworthy's  table.  We  greeted  each  other 
cordially,  and  I  ordered,  as  usual,  a  chop  and  a 


58 


SIX   CENT   SAM  S. 


pint  of  Beaune.  Rax  worthy,  when  he  pays  his 
own  score,  is  frugal  in  his 
meals;  but  is  not  averse  to 
conviviality  at  the  expense  of 
others.  So  I  offered  him  a 
share  of  my  bottle;  and  when, 
in  a  few  minutes,  Sam  came 
along  and  yielded  to  my  invi 
tation  to  sit  down  with  us, 
I  ordered  another  pint.  Under  the  genial  influence 
of  these  proceedings,  Raxworthy  presently  waxed 
loquacious. 

"You  recollect,"  he  said,  "those  German  fellows 
\vho  came  to  treat  with  me  about  my  collection  ? 
Well,  I  knew  I  hadn't  heard  the  last  of  them,  and 
the  other  day  I  got  a  letter  asking  me  to  meet 
them  in  Philadelphia;  they  wanted  to  amend 
their  offer.  I  locked  up  my  house  and  went. 
When  I  got  there,  I  found  there  had  been  some 
misunderstanding;  they  had  waited  for  me  all  the 
day  before  and  then  gone  off,  leaving  a  letter  with 
the  clerk  of  their  hotel  to  say  that  they  had  a 
further  proposition  from  Dresden,  which  they 
would  like  to  submit  to  me.  They  made  another 
appointment  to  meet  me  this  week  here  in  New- 
York." 


RAXWORTHY'S  TREASURE.  59> 

"You  are  playing  in  big  luck,"  said  I. 

"What  do  you  know  about  these  folks?" 
inquired  Sam.  "  Are  they  straight  ?  Can  they  do 
what  they  say  they  can?  " 

"You  should  have  seen  their  letters  of  introduc 
tion  ;  and  I  happen  to  know  they  have  credit  for  a 
million." 

"Humph!    I  don't  know.     Have  you  consulted 
our  friends  on  the  other  side  ?  " 
xRaxworthy    gave    him    a  quick  glance.     "You 
mean  — 

"Spirits,  of  course.  What  else?"  rejoined  Samr 
sipping  his  wine. 

Raxworthy looked  gratified.  "You're  a  sensible 
fellow,"  he  said.  "You  recognize  that  the  affairs 
of  this  world  are  guided  by  supersensuous  powers. 
I  like  to  talk  to  a  man  who  can  rise  above  vulgar 
prejudice." 

"If  you  mean  a  reflection  on  me,"  I  hastened  to 
say,  "I  am  anxious  not  to  be  vulgar,  when  I  get  a 
chance." 

He  laughed  good-naturedly.  "Oh,  there's  no 
telling  what  you  believe.  However,  I  could  tell 
you  fellows  something;" — he  lowered  his  voice  and 
bent  forward — "there's  a  medium  I  know — her 
name  is  Mrs.  Selkirk ;  she  has  sent  me  word  that 


<30  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

there's  a  message  awaiting  me  which  will  have  a 
permanent  influence  on  my  fortune.  I  am  to  meet 
her  this  evening." 

"I'd  like  to  go  with  you, "said Sam, much  to  my 
surprise. 

"You  would?  Well,  I  don't  know  but  it  might 
be  managed.  It'll  be  in  the  nature  of  a  test,  you 
know.  And  you  can  come,  too,"  he  added,  turn 
ing  to  me.  "Of  course,  you  know,  her  fee  is  two 
dollars  each  person.  It's  a  good  deal  of  money, 
but-" 

"Never  mind,"  said  Sam,  gravely,  "we'll  raise  it 
-for  that." 

A  shade  of  anxiety  departed  from  Raxworthy's 
face.  "All  right,  then,"  he  responded,  heartily. 
"At  eight  o'clock.  It  may  be  about  those  German 
fellows.  I  shouldn't  be  surprised." 

It  was  not  about  them,  however.  I  confess  that 
the  performance  impressed  me.  Sam  was  silent 
and  attentive,  seeming  to  be  familiar  with  such 
things.  I  wondered  if  there  were  anything  which 
that  man  had  not  experienced.  As  for  Mrs.  Selkirk, 
she  was  a  quiet,  slender  woman  of  middle  age, 
with  one  of  those  average  faces  that  one  imagines 
one  has  seen  before.  She  was  a  thoroughly 
respectable  person.  She  wore  black  silk,  with 


KAXWORTHY'S  TREASURE.  61 

white  ruching,  and  white  lace  around  her  hair.  It 
was  a  private  seance  —  no  one  present  but  our 
selves.  After  a  few  polite  preliminaries,  we  went 
into  executive  session.  The  room  was  darkened, 
until,  by  my  utmost  stretch  of  vision,  I  could  just 
see  what  I  believed  to  be  Mrs.  Selkirk's  white  lace 
and  ruching.  Gradually  a  luminous  appearance 
bloomed  out,  so  to  say,  in  the  air  above  and 
behind  her  head. 

"They  are  taking  me  to  a  house, "murmured  the 
medium.  "It  is  a  house  in  Yernon  street,"  she 
presently  added ;  and  I  declare,  that,  as  she  said 
these  words,  I  saw,  or  fully  believed  I  saw,  the 
phantom  of  a  house  appear  in  the  midst  of  the 
luminous  place.  It  was  a  small,  old  brick  house, 
the  blinds  closed  and  defaced,  the  wooden  steps 
leading  up  to  the  door  in  a  ruinous  state,  and  an 
air  of  not  having  been  inhabited  for  a  long  time 
hanging  over  the  whole  place. 

"Who  is  in  control ?"  asked  Raxworthy,  in  a 
reverent  voice. 

There  was  no  reply  to  this  question.  The  appa 
rition  of  the  house  slowly  ceased  to  be  visible,  but 
something  else  seemed  to  be  coming  into  existence 
in  another  part  of  the  room.  It  was  very  faint  at 
first,  but  after  wavering  back  and  forth  for  a 


•62  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

while,  now  in  this  world  and  now  in  the  other,  it 
became  more  distinct ;  it  was  the  figure  of  some 
body —  of  a  man.  His  face  was  in  a  sort  of 
shadow,  or  perhaps  it  was  not  so  fully  material 
ized  as  the  other  parts.  He  inclined  his  body 
stiffly,  and  said  in  a  quavering  voice : 

"Evenin',  folks;  I'm  Gaffer  Peters." 

I  began  to  feel  uneasy  at  this  miracle,  and  turned 
for  support  to  Sam,  who,  however,  was  invisible 
in  the  darkness. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  Gaffer,"  said  Raxworthy, 
encouragingly,  for  the  poor  old  gentleman  seemed 
on  the  point  of  fading  out  again.  "Have  you  any 
message  for  any  of  us  ?  " 

"Look  under  the  hearthstone,"  was  the  barely 
audible  reply.  "The  hearthstone  in  the  back  sit 
ting  room.  It  worries  me — it  worries  me.  I 
buried  it  there —  The  voice  died  away. 

"You  buried  it — yes,  Gaffer.  What  was  it  that 
you  buried?"  said  Raxworthy,  in  a  tone  of 
repressed  eagerness. 

"Gold  and  jewels — gold  and  jewels — a  treasure — 
vast  treasure,"  came  the  halting  reply.  "I  can't 
rest— gold  and  jewels— buried— hearthstone— " 
The  voice  seemed  constantly  on  the  verge  of  disap 
pearing  into  silence  entirely. 


RAXWORTHY'S  TREASURE.  63 

"In  what  place  are  they  buried?"  inquired 
Raxworthy,  pronouncing  the  words  with  anxious 
distinctness,  as  if  to  make  up  for  the  vocal  deficien 
cies  of  the  venerable  spectre. 

There  was  a  considerable  pause,  and  to  our  con 
sternation,  the  figure  of  our  interlocuter  grew 
dimmer  and  finally  was  altogether  absorbed  into 
the  darkness.  But  out  of  that  darkness  the  answer 
sounded,  and  it  was  more  clearly  audible  than  any 
of  the  previous  utterances,  as  if  the  Gaffer's  lungs 
had  gained  all  the  materializing  power  that  the 
rest  of  the  spirit  had  lost. 

"No.  97  Vernon  street.     I  give  it  all  to  you.    Go 
quickly.    It  may  be  too  late." 
The  medium  stirred  restlessly. 

"I  guess  that's  all  we'll  get  this  evening," 
remarked  Sam,  at  last,  and  he  stepped  to  the  gas 
jet  and  turned  on  the  light. 

Mrs.  Selkirk  passed  her  hands  over  her  eyes,  and 
smiled  politely  upon  us. 

"Was  the  seance  successful  ?  Were  you  satisfied, 
gentlemen?  "  she  asked,  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone. 

"Quite  so,  madam,"  replied  Sam  in  his  deep 
voice.  "It  looks  as  if  our  friend  Raxworthy  would 
be  indebted  to  you  in  a  much  greater  sum  than 
two  dollars." 


64  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

"Oh,  I  can't  admit  that,"  exclaimed  Raxworthy 
hastily.  "We  may  have  been  deceived,  you  know  ;; 
besides — " 

"  If  gentlemen  meet  with  good  fortune  in  conse- 

o  o 

quence  of  my  seances,  they  are  not  expected  to  pay 
anything  extra,"  said  Airs.  Selkirk,  quietly;  "and. 
on  the  other  hand,  I  am  not  to  be  held  responsible 
in  case  of  any  disappointment.  Those  are  the 
rules."  So  saying  she  arose,  as  if  to  intimate  that 
the  seance  was  at  a  close.  We  made  our  adieux,, 
and  departed. 

"Honestly,  now,  what  do  you  think  of  that?'" 
demanded  Raxworthy,  triumphantly,  as  he  faced 
us  on  the  sidewalk. 

"Honestly,  I  want  a  drop  of  whisky,"  said  I. 

Sam  tipped  his  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head,  and 
thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

"As  a  practical  man,  I  say  we  put  this  thing  to 
the  test  at  once,"  said  he.  "Vernon  street's  near 
here;  let's  go  and  find  out  what  No.  97  looks  like." 

We  went.  Vernon  street  turned  out  to  be  a 
small  and  obscure  place,  westw-ard  from  Jefferson 
Market.  It  was  dirty  and  ill-lighted,  and  given  up 
to  a  vile  class  of  the  population.  But  I  had  a 
"turn"  when  I  beheld,  nearly  at  the  extremity  of 
it,  the  very  identical  building  of  which  we  had  seen 


RAXWORTHY'S  TREASURE.  65 

the  apparition  at  the  seance.  There  it  was,  a 
rickety  two-story  brick  building,  with  blinds  rot 
ting  off  their  hinges,  and  a  flight  of  tumbledown 
•wooden  steps  leading  to  the  front  door. 

We  all  three  stared  up  at  it  in  awed  silence. 

"Well,  Mr.  Raxworthy,"  said  Sam,  at  last, 
"that  seems  to  be  your  house,  all  right  enough. 
What  do  you  intend  to  do  next?  " 

"Why,  let's  get  in,  and  find  out  whether  the 
back  sitting  room — 

"  I  do  n't  approve  of  house-breaking, ' '  interrupted 
Sam,  decisively.  "Besides,  even  if  we  found  the 
treasure,  it  would  belong  to  the  landlord  and  not 
to  us.  That's  law,  I  believe." 

"What  do  you  advise,  then?"  Raxworthy 
asked. 

"Become  the  landlord  yourself." 

"You  don't  mean  buy  the  house?"  cried  Rax 
worthy,  recoiling. 

Sam  nodded  grimly.  "That's  just  what  I  do 
mean,  sir,"  was  his  answer. 

"Wouldn't  it  do  to  rent  it?  "  asked  Raxworthy, 
with  a  gleam  of  hope. 

"Renting  wouldn't  entitle  you  to  the  treasure." 

"But  suppose  there  shouldn't  be  any  treasure, " 


66  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

said  Raxworthy,  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his 
forehead. 

"Well,  there's  where  your  test  comes  in.  It's  to 
take  or  to  leave.  The  spirits  were  right  about  the 
house,  any w ay." 

"Yes,"  assented  Raxworthy,  in  sore  distress. 
"But  I  don't  really  know  where  I  am  to  find  the 
money  to — " 

"I'll  make  you  this  proposition,"  said  Sam, 
emphatically,  as  he  bit  the  end  off  a  cigar ;  "  I'll  go 
shares  with  you  on  the  house  or  I'll  buy  it  all 
myself — treasure  included ;  is  that  fair  ?  " 

"Oh,  as  to  that,  I  suppose  —  I'm  obliged  to  you, 
of  course.  Still,  I  might  manage  somehow  to 
raise  the  money,  if —  Do  you  suppose  I  could  get 
it  for  a  hundred  dollars?"  faltered  the  wretched 
Raxworthy. 

"Get  that  house  for  a  hundred  dollars?" 
repeated  Sam,  with  boundless  scorn.  "You'd  be 
luckier  than  I  expect  you  will  if  it  goes  to  you  for 
a  hundred  times  a  hundred." 

"Ten  thousand  dollars?  Oh,  that's  impossible," 
cried  the  tortured  victim. 

"And  there  might  be  nothing  in  it  after  all," 
assented  Sam.  "All  right;  then  I  take  the  whole 
outfit.  I  happen  to  have  ten  thousand  that  I'd 


RAXWOKTHY  S  TREASURE. 


67 


about  as  lief  put  in  there  as  anywhere.  Well,  if 
you're  not  going  my  way,  I'll  bid  you  good-night, 
gentlemen." 

"Hold  up  a  minute,"  groaned  Rax\vorthy.     "I 
could  get  it  on  two-thirds  mortgage,  couldn't  I?  " 
"Yotiniight,  or  you  might  not;  probably  not," 
said  Sam,  coldly. 

"Well,  I'll  inquire;  I'll  think  it  over,  and  decide 
in  a  fe\v  days,"  Raxworthy  rejoined. 

"I'm  decided  now,"  said  Sam.  "I  shall  buy 
that  house,  mortgage  or  no  mortgage,  the  first 
thing  to-morrow  morning.  If  the  treasure  turns 
out  to  be  there,  well  and  good.  If  not,  why,  real 
estate  is  going  up  in  this  neighborhood,  and  I 
guess  I  can  get  my  money  back,  anyway." 

"I  never  thought   of  that,"  cried   Raxworthy, 

eagerly.  "Of course 
I  could  sell  it  again ; 
in  fact,  I  would  do 
that,  in  any  case, 
after  the  question 
of  the  treasure  had 
been  decided.  Or, 
better  yet,  I  can 
rent  it  in  the  first 
instance,  and  then,  if  the  treasure  turns  out  to  be 


68  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

there,  I  can  buy  the  place  outright,  and  so  legalize 
my  possession  of  the  treasure.  Oh,  that's  the 
grandest  scheme  of  all." 

A  momentary  smile  flitted  over  the  iron  visage  of 
Sam. 

"Well,  I've  told  you  my  ultimatum,"  said  he, 
"If  the  house  isn't  yours  to-morrow,  it  will  be 
mine.  And  now,  gentlemen,  this  is  no  place  for 
respectable  citizens  to  be  at  midnight.  If  you'd 
like  to  come  and  have  a  quiet  chat  over  a  bottle  of 
my  Burgundy,  come  on;  it  won't  cost  you  any 
thing.  We're  close  by." 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  Raxworthy  became 
the  owner  of  No.  97  Vernon  street,  on  compara 
tively  easy  terms.  On  that  momentous  afternoon, 
Sam  and  I  accompanied  him  to  the  premises. 
With  as  much  precaution  and  mystery  as  if  we 
were  going  to  inter  a  murdered  corpse  instead  of 
unearth  a  possible  bag  of  treasure,  we  took  with 
us,  carefully  wrapped  up  in  canvas,  a  spade  and  a 
pick.  We  effected  an  entrance  into  the  house  with 
out  attracting  undue  attention  from  passers-by, 
and  found  it  to  be  very  dark  arid  very  dirty 
within.  Sam,  however,  had  had  the  forethought 
to  bring  in  his  pocket  a  bit  of  candle,  having 


RAXWORTHY'S  TREASURE.  69 

lighted  which,  we  proceeded  to  the  fateful  back  sit 
ting  room. 

At  this  stage  of  the  adventure,  Rax  worthy's  agi 
tation  became  painfully  manifest.  I  was  not  a 
little  excited  myself.  Sam  was  circumspect  but 
composed.  As  he  stooped  over  the  hearthstone,  I 
fancied  I  discerned  symptoms  of  the  butt  of  a 
revolver  in  the  hip  pocket  of  his  trousers.  So  far, 
everything  —  house,  street,  number,  room,  and 
hearthstone,  had  fulfilled  the  ghost's  word,  which 
we  were  almost  ready  to  take,  as  did  Hamlet,  for 
£i  thousand  pounds.  We  gathered  about  the 
hearthstone,  and  glowered  down  upon  it.  Would 
the  ray  of  our  flickering  taper,  as  we  turned  back 
the  heavy  slab  from  its  resting-place,  sparkle  upon 
Si  vast  heap  of  splendid  jewels  and  gold  ?  If  so, 
what  w^as  one  to  think  about  Spiritualism?  No 
test  could  be  more  convincing. 

"Take  the  pick,  and  go  at  it,"  said  Sam,  in  vig 
orous,  practical  tones.  "Let's  have  the  agony 
over,  one  way  or  the  other." 

RaxwTorthy,  thus  appealed  to,  laid  hands  upon 
the  tool  in  question,  but  \vas  unable  to  make  any 
play  with  it.  He  was  in  such  a  nervous  tremor 
that  his  muscles  (if  he  had  any)  \vere  not  under 
his  control. 


70  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

"Pshaw!  Give  we  the  daggers,"  cried  Sam, 
"Stand  by  to  help  with  the  spade  when  I  get  the 
slab  started.  In  she  goes  —  now,  then,  up  shecomes. 
Lay  it  on  one  side,  there.  Well,  what  have  we 
got?" 

What,  indeed  ?  We  all  went  down  on  our  hands 
and  knees,  and  peered  into  the  cavity  revealed 
by  the  uplifted  stone.  No  flash  of  radiant  jewels 
greeted  our  eyes.  The  hole  seemed  to  contain 
nothing  but  dirt  and  rubbish.  Raxworthy,  with 
a  sort  of  desperation,  finally  reached  in,  and  clawed 
out  some  folds  of  old  oilcloth.  This  seemed  to  be 
all  the  booty  in  sight.  He  uttered  a  groan 
that  was  like  a  sob. 

"  Ten  thousand  dollars  for  a  scrap  of  oilcloth !  " 
He  rose  from  his  knees  with  the  feeble  movement 
of  an  aged  man,  and  was  about  to  totter  away 
when  Sam  arrested  his  departure. 

"Not  so  fast,  young  fellow,"  said  he.  "You're 
no  hand  at  treasure  hunting.  We're  not  at  the 
bottom  of  this  thing  yet.  Here,  what  do  you  call 
this?" 

He  had  laid  hold  of  a  knot  or  tuft  of  something 
that  projected  from  the  bottom  of  the  hole.  He 
gave  a  stout  tug  at  it,  but  it  resisted  the  effort. 


RAXWORTHY'S  TREASURE.  71 

"Bear  a  hand  here,  some  of  you,  "cried  he.  "Am 
I  the  only  man  among  you  who  has  any  faith?" 

Hereupon,  we  all  got  our  hands  upon  that  pro 
jecting  tuft,  and  heaved  amain,  Raxworthy, 
especially,  putting  a  fury  of  strength  into  his  lift. 
And,  lo,  up  came,  slowly  but  surely,  a  huge,  heavy 
bag  of  coarse  sacking,  weighing  as  much  as  the 
three  of  us  could  well  handle.  As  we  dropped  it  on 
the  floor  beside  the  hole,  there  proceeded  from  it  an 
unmistakable  chinking  sound,  as  of  metal.  At 
that  sound  Raxworthy 's  face  became  ghastly  pale, 
and  he  panted  as  if  he  had  just  run  a  race.  Sam 
ripped  open  the  mouth  of  the  bag,  then  seized  it  by 
the  bottom  and,  with  a  great  jerk,  emptied  the 
whole  contents  out  on  the  floor. 

It  was  true,  after  all.  The  apparition  had  not 
lied.  Spiritualism  was  vindicated.  Before  us  lay 
a  vast  pile  of  gold  and  precious  stones,  to  the  value 
of  Heaven  knows  how  many  hundred  thousand 
dollars.  Raxworthy  had  become  a  millionaire  in  a 
moment.  He  emitted  a  wild  screech,  and  threw 
himself  face  downward  into  the  midst  of  the 
treasure. 

"Mine — mine — all  mine!"  he  gurgled  out,  as  he 
wallowed  at  our  feet,  oblivious  and  careless  of  us 
and  all  the  world. 


72 


six  CENT  SAM'S. 


"It's  a  queer  sight,  isn't  it?"  remarked  Sam, 
turning  to  me  with  a  smile  on  one  side 
ofhismouth.  "Somemenlove 
a  woman,  and  some  love  the      ;l  '     u 
presidency  of  the  United 
States  ;  but  did  you  ever 
know  a  lover  or  a  poli 

tician  to  love  anything 

/ 

or  anybody  as  much     ., 

as  that   creature    ,,,;u 
there     l 


dirt?    Look  at  ~ 

him,     sir;     it's 

worth  looking  at  ;  there's  nothing  else  just  like  it 

on  the  face  of  this  earth." 

As  this  was  the  only  moralizing  speech  I  ever 
happened  to  hear  Sam  make,  I  transcribe  the 
whole  of  it. 

It  was  some  time  before  our  fri-end  became 
enough  of  a  human  being  again  to  allow  of  being 
reasoned  with.  But  in  the  course  of  half  an  hour 
or  so  we  got  him  on  his  legs  and  the  treasure 
back  into  the  bag.  I  am  free  to  admit  that  the 
events  of  the  afternoon  had  somewhat  agitated 
even  me,  though  my  share  in  the  treasure  was  that 
of  an  observer  only  ;  and  I  retain  no  very  clear 


RAXWORTHY'S  TREASURE.  73 

recollection  of  what  occurred  immediately  after 
this.  I  seem  to  remember  that  \ve  somehow  got 
the  bag  to  the  door,  and  that  somehow  a  hack 
happened  to  be  standing  there,  and  that  as  we  got 
into  it,  I  noticed  Sam  speak  to  a  couple  of  police 
men  who  happened  to  be  on  the  spot.  Then  he 
got  in,  and  slammed  the  door  of  the  vehicle  and  off 
we  trundled. 

In  fifteen  minutes  we  were  at  Raxworthy's 
rooms,  with  the  bag.  He  threw  off  his  coat,  and 
wiped  his  forehead. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  fellows,"  said  he.  "I'll 
get  out  my  strong  box,  and  we'll  count  the 
treasure  into  it,  and  if  it  turns  out  to  be  as  good 
as  it  looks,  I'll  make  Mrs.  Selkirk  a  present  of  five 
dollars." 

"Steady,  my  man,"  said  Sam;  "don't  be  rash." 

"Well,  that's  the  way  I  feel,"  he  replied.  "I'm 
reckless.  I'll  give  her  two  dollars,  anyhow." 

"Better  cool  off  a  bit,  before  you  commit  your 
self,"  returned  the  other. 

"You  two  must  help  me  with  the  box,"  he  went 
on ;  "it's  as  heavy  as  the  bag." 

We  followed  him  to  the  fireplace  in  his  bedroom. 
He  pushed  aside  a  panel  in  the  wall,  disclosing  an 
iron  door,  secured  by  a  couple  of  steel  bars  and  an 


74  six  .CENT  SAM'S. 

immense  lock.    He  took  out  a  key,  and  applied  it 
to  the  keyhole.     It  would  not  turn. 

"Anj^thing  wrong?  "  Sam  inquired. 

Raxworthy  made  another  effort;  it  was  as 
futile  as  the  first.  He  turned  upon  us  with  a 
ghastly  look. 

"It's  been  tampered  with,"  he  said,  in  a  husky 
whisper. 

"Stuff!   Give  her  another  turn,"  rejoined  Sam. 

Raxworthy  made  a  gesture  eloquent  of  terror 
and  despair. 

"Oh,  what  does  it  mean?  "  he  quavered.  "My 
soul,  \vhat  is  it  ?  " 

Sam  stooped  down  and  examined  the  lock.  "It 
looks  to  me  like  flat  burglary,"  he  remarked,, 
coolly.  "And  a  mighty  neat  job,  too." 

A  paroxysm  seized  Raxworthy.  He  sprang  up 
and  gave  the  knob  of  the  iron  door  a  violent 
wrench.  The  door  flew  open,  and  Raxworthy  sat 
down  on  the  floor  hard. 

"Keys  unnecessary,"  remarked  Sam,  still  with 
the  same  impassivity.  He  took  hold  of  the  box 
and  pulled  it  out  of  the  cavity  in  which  it  stood 
with  a  single  jerk  of  his  powerful  arm.  It  came  to> 
the  floor  with  a  hollow  sound  that  affected 

* 

Raxworthy  as  might  the  Crack   of  Doom  a  con- 


RAXWORTHY'S  TREASURE.  75 

demned  soul.  Neither  words  or  outcries  could  any 
longer  express  his  feelings.  He  sat  huddled  up  on 
the  floor,  staring  at  the  chest,  voiceless  and  almost 
lifeless  while  convulsive  shudderings  ever  and  anon 
passed  through  his  lean  body. 

"A  clean  job,"  repeated  Sam,  throwing  open  the 
lid,  and  glancing  within.  "They  did  leave  you  the 
box,  though,  and,  if  you've  lost  one  treasure, 
you've  got  another  to  put  in  the  place  of  it.  Just 
pour  into  the  box  what  is  in  the  bag,  and  say  no 
more  about  it." 

"Ruined!  All  my  gold,"  moaned  Rax  worthy, 
with  a  sob. 

"You  make  me  very  weary,"  said  Sam.  He  took 
hold  of  the  bag  and  once  more  emptied  its  contents 
on  the  floor.  "Ruined,  eh?"  he  added;  "I  wish  I 
was  ruined  to  the  same  tune." 

My  stars,  what  a  gorgeous  heap  of  wealth  it 
was.  Doubloons,  moidores,  eagles,  nuggets,  dia 
monds,  rubies,  and  all  the  rest  of  it. 

"It's  just  as  good  as  your  own  pile  over  again," 
said  Sam,  "neither  more  nor  less." 

"They're  not  worth  the  tenth  of  mine,"  said 
Rax  worthy,  tragically.  But  the  rattle  and  spar 
kle  of  the  jewels  had  aroused  him  in  spite  of  him 
self.  He  picked  up  one  of  the  doubloons,  then 


76  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

another;  then  he  examined  a  nugget.  A  sudden 
flush  sprang  into  his  face;  with  trembling  hands 
he  snatched  up  a  diamond  ring  of  peculiar  design. 

"What  ails  the  fellow  now?"  muttered  Sam, 
while  that  odd  half  smile  again  twitched  the  corner 
of  his  mouth. 

Raxworthy,  meanwhile,  continued  to  catch  up 
one  jewel  or  coin  after  another,  and  stare  at  them 
like  one  demented. 

"Why,  what's  this?  and  this?  and  this?"  he 
cried,  again  and  again.  "They're  mine,  I  tell  you 
—  mine  —  all  mine!  These  are  what  they  robbed 
me  of.  Am  I  crazy?  My  own  treasure  —  how  can 
it  be?"  He  broke  into  frantic  convulsions  of 
laughter,  in  the  midst  of  which  he  kept  gathering 
up  double  handfuls  of  the  precious  stuff,  and  bury 
ing  his  face  in  it;  I  believe  he  was  actually 
kissing  it. 

"What  he  found,  he's  lost,  and  what  he's  lost, 
he's  found,"  Sam  observed,  philosophically. 
"  That's  apt  to  be  the  way  in  this  world." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Sam  opened  it. 
There  stood  a  policeman.  He  saluted  Sam  deferen 
tially. 

"Well?  "said  the  latter. 


RAXWORTHY'S  TREASURE.  77 

"We've  got  the  birds,"  said  the  officer.  "They 
turned  up  not  ten  minutes  after  you  left." 

"A  close  shave,  all  round,"  Sam  remarked. 
"We'll  be  round  to  identify  'em  in  an  hour.  That's 
all." 

He  closed  the  door  again,  and  contemplated 
Raxworthy,  still  caressing  his  treasure,  \vith 
contemptuous  amusement. 

"It's  a  pity  to  disturb  him,  isn't  it?"  he  said. 
"He's  twice  as  happy  as  if  he'd  never  been  robbed 
at  all.  But  business  is  business.  Come  on,  Mr. 
Rax\vorthy.  I'll  have  to  take  you  to  police  head 
quarters  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  you  will  have 
your  evening  to  devote  to  your  —  wife." 


Now,  what  was  the  meaning  of  all  this  ?  It  was 
a  perplexing  case.  The  two  burglars  turned  out 
to  be  identical  with  the  distinguished  curator  oi 
the  Green  Yavilts  of  Dresden,  and  his  secretary;  and 
the  police  also  professed  to  remember  in  them  two 
well-known  and  skillful  offenders  against  our  pres 
ent  laws  regarding  property.  One  of  the  chief 
\vitnesses  against  them  was  the  original  proprie 
tor  of  the  premises  at  No.  97  Vernon  street,  who, 
also,  strange  to  relate,  was  indistinguishable  from 


78  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

that  excellent  medium  and  lady,  Mrs.  Selkirk.  I 
have  suspected,  since  these  events,  that  Mrs.  Sel 
kirk  and  Sam  were  old  acquaintances ;  and  it  may 
be  worth  mentioning  that  I  once  saw,  in  Sam's 
back  office,  an  antique  bell-crowned  hat,  which 
reminded  me  strongly  of  the  one  \vorn  by  that 
amiable  and  distressed  spectre,  the  late  Gaffer 
Peters. 

But  is  it  not  singular  that  the  robbers  should 
have  concealed  their  booty  in  the  very  spot,  of  all 
others,  in  which  Gaffer  Peters  had  directed  Rax- 
worthy  to  dig  for  his  own  hoard  ?  The  ways  of 
Providence,  not  to  speak  of  the  artfulness  of  the 
police,  are  sometimes  past  finding  out.  As  a  test 
of  the  trustworthiness  of  Spiritualism,  the  adven 
ture  is  perhaps  less  satisfactory  than  it  seemed  to 
be  at  first.  But  it  is  at  all  events  certain  that 
Sam,  later  on,  took  No.  97  off  Raxworthy's  hands, 
and  has  since  turned  it  into  a  retreat  for  helpless 
and  decayed  newsboys. 


THE  JOHN  NORTH  MYSTERY. 


HREE  days  before  the 
recent  election  I  was 
dining  at  Judge  Horn- 
buckle's,  on  West  Fifty- 
Third  street,  and  was 
accorded  the  privilege 
of  sitting  beside  Miss 
Ann  Carew.  I  have 
known  this  young  lady 
a  good  many  years,  but 
of  late  we  have  met  but 
seldom.  She  has  been 
abroad  and  in  society,  she  is  rich  and  a  beauty, 
and  the  world  is  large;  at  all  events  our  paths 
diverged.  But  there  remained  on  each  side  a 
cordial  sentiment,  and  whenever  we  did  meet  it 
was  with  pleasure.  She  was,  at  the  time  of  which 
I  am  now  "writing,  just  past  her  twenty-first  year, 
and  in  no  respect  a  common  girl.  She  has  a  mind 
as  well  as  a  body,  and  both  are  adorable. 

79 


80  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

The  judge,  with  his  manners  of  a  gentleman  of 
the  old  school,  had  been  giving  some  attention  to 
the  political  situation.  Since  the  close  of  Grant's 
second  term  he  had  not  personally  entered  the 
political  arena.  He  has  a  clean  record,  and  no 
man  in  the  state  is  more  respected.  "It  is  the 
fashion,"  he  was  saying,  from  the  chair  which  he 
so  dignified!}-  filled  at  the  head  of  the  table,  "to 
assert  that  politics  are  becoming  totally  corrupt. 
I  am  disposed  to  challenge  that  assertion.  In  view 
of  the  fact  that  the  persons  in  charge  of  our  state 
and  municipal  affairs  are  frequently  of  humble  ori 
gin  and  limited  education,  that  they  are  placed  in 
positions  of  great  responsibility,  that  they  are  sub 
jected  to  strong  temptations,  and  must  often  act 
under  powerful  excitement, — taking  these  circum 
stances  into  consideration  I  am  more  inclined  to 
admire  their  general  well-doing  than  to  cavil  at  — 
h'm — their  occasional  lapses." 

"How  long  since  you  got  back?"  I  asked  Ann 
Carew. 

"  From  Europe  ?  Only  a  few  days  ago.  This  is 
the  first  time  I've  seen  anybody  since.  I  almost 
wish  I'd  stayed  till  these  elections  were  over.  It's 
like  being  in  a  house  where  somebody  is  ill.  Unless 
you're  either  a  doctor  or  a  patient,  it's  tiresome." 


THE  JOHN   NORTH   MYSTERY.  81 

"Not  personally,"  said  the  judge,  replying  to 
someone.  "I  happen,  however,  to  have  some 
information  concerning  him.  He  affords  a  favora 
ble  example  of  the  truth  of  the  contention  I  was 
just  making — that  sterling  integrity  is  the  strong 
est  recommendation  to  popular  favor  in  this  coun 
try.  Once  convince  the  people  that  the  character 
of  a  candidate  is  beyond  question,  and  they  will 
support  him  with  enthusiasm.  Now,  the  gentle 
man  you  have  mentioned  has,  in  a  period  compar 
atively  brief,  accomplished  a  remarkable  and  in  all 
respects  a  creditable  career.  Six  months  ago  he 
was  practically  unknown,  except,  of  course,  as  to 
his  services  during  the  concluding  years  of  the  war, 
when,  though  a  very  young  man,  he  distinguished 
himself  for  bravery  and  capacity.  But  since  that 
period  he  has  entirely  disappeared  from  public 
view.  I  believe  I  am  correct  in  stating  that  he  is 
almost  a  stranger  even  in  society,  though  \vell- 
qualified  to  become  a  favorite  there.  A  bachelor,  a 
student,  a  recluse, —  such  has  been  his  category. 
Last  spring  not  half  a  dozen  persons  in  this  city 
enjoyed  the  pleasure  of  his  acquaintance;  to-day 
he  is  —  and  deservedly  —  perhaps  the  most  conspic 
uous  figure  among  the  candidates  before  the  peo- 


82  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

pie.  I  venture  the  prophesy  that  he  will  secure  the 
election." 

"Who  is  this  demigod?"  I  inquired  of  my  com 
panion. 

She  shook  her  head  and  smiled.  " I  didn't  catch 
his  name.  I  am  more  interested  to  know  the 
name  of  the  gentleman  on  the  other  side  of  the 
table.  He  has  one  of  the  finest  heads  and  strongest 
faces  I  ever  saw.  And  what  eyes —  they  look  right 
through  you.  Do  you  kno\v  him  ?  " 

"I  know  him,  and  I  don't.  He  is  a  mystery.  If 
I  were  told  that  he  were  the  autocrat  of  this  city, 
I  should  believe  it.  And  yet  he  permits  me  to  call 
him  Sam.  He  is  all  things  to  all  men.  If  you'll 
permit  it,  I'll  introduce  him  to  you  after  dinner." 

"Thank  you.  Dear  me,  we  are  not  done  with 
the  demigod  yet." 

"It  was  quite  by  an  accident,"  the  judge  was 
saying.  "He  had  made  an  invention  for  coupling 
and  uncoupling  cars  automatically,  and  he  had 
taken  out  a  patent  for  the  invention.  In  endeavor 
ing  to  introduce  it,  however,  he  found  himself  ham 
pered  by  a  secret  and  invisible  opposition.  It  was 
the  old  story  of  a  vast  monopoly  retarding  the 
march  of  progress  for  selfish  pecuniary  ends.  But 
this  man  knew  the  value  of  his  invention  and 


THE  JOHN   NORTH   MYSTERY. 


83 


would  accept  neither  compromise  nor  defeat.  He 
declared  war,  and  entered  into  a  contest  appar 
ently  hopeless  with  a  spirit  and  determination 
nothing  less  than  heroic.  As  time  \venton,  he  was 
naturally  led  to  investigate  the  whole  subject  of 
railway  rings  and  monopolies ;  his  spirit  infected 
others,  and  the  sphere  of  the  conflict  enlarged.  At 
length  he  found  himself  at  the  head  of  a  resolute 
and  well  equipped  body  of  men,  sworn  to  expose 
and  shatter  the  iniquity  which  had  so  long  main 
tained  itself  in  defiance  of  the  public  will  and  weal. 
Such  a  struggle  could  not  fail  to  attract  wide 
attention.  Before  it  was  over  our  friend  was  a 
marked  man.  The  qualities  he  had  shown  could 
not  be  spared  from  political  life.  He  was  nomi 
nated  for  reform,  and  there  is  no 
doubt  that  he  will  receive  an  over 
whelming  popular  vote,  and,  as  I 
believe,  will  run  far  ahead  of  his 
ticket.  It  is  noteworthy  that  many 
even  of  those  who  ordinarily  might 
have  been  expected  to  oppose  him 
appear  among  his  supporters  in  this  canvass." 

"Is  not  that  rather  an  ambiguous  compliment, 
judge?  "  asked  one  of  his  hearers.  "I  know  it  has 
puzzled  more  than  one  of  his  friends."  It  was  the 


8-4  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

personage  whom  I  had  referred  to  under  the  name 
of  Sam  who  put  the  query. 

' '  I  am  sure  that  you,  at  any  rate,  have  not  mis 
interpreted  it,"  retorted  the  judge,  courteously. 

"I  know  John  North,"  said  the  other.  "He's 
honest,  and  I  believe  he  has  too  much  sense  to  be 
used  as  a  cat's-paw.  But  the  support  of  the  men 
you  refer  to  is  a  queer  phenomenon." 

"Possibly  they  are  capable  of  better  things  than 
you  suppose,"  said  a  dark  browed,  smooth  faced 
gentleman,  affably. 

"Possibly,  Mr.  Ryan,"  said  Sam,  glancing  at  the 
speaker. 

"Did  he  say  John  North  ?  "murmured  Ann  Care  \v. 
She  spoke  in  such  a  faint  voice  that  I  turned  in  sur 
prise,  and  found  her  quite  pale. 

"The  name  is  a  common  one,"  I  remarked. 

"Very  common,"  assented  she,  the  color  return 
ing  to  her  face.  After  a  moment  she  addressed  the 
judge:  "What  sort  of  a  looking  man  is  this  Mr. 
North?" 

"I  could  hardly  describe  him  to  you,  MissCarew. 
As  I  said,  I  have  not  the  pleasure  of  his  personal 
acquaintance,  and — 

"He's  a  trifle  over  forty,  well  set  up,  dark  beard, 
wears  spectacles,"  put  in  Sam,  with  a  polite  incli- 


THE  JOHN   NORTH    MYSTERY.  85 

nation  of  the  head  to  the  young  lady.  "Nothing 
extraordinary  to  look  at.  There  might  be  a 
dozen  men  in  New  York  who  resemble  him  more  or 
less." 

"Not  an  unusual  type,  by  any  means,"  echoed 
Air.  Ryan.  "It's  his  mental  qualities  that  dis 
tinguish  him.  A  very  eloquent  speaker,  also." 

"And  that's  another  puzzling  thing,"  said  Sam. 
"A  month  ago  John  North  could  hardly  string 
a  dozen  sentences  together.  Now,  he's  as  fluent  as 
a  Frenchman.  I  haven't  had  an  opportunity  to 
ask  him  ho\v  he  manages  it.  He  has  become  rather 
difficult  of  access.  But  it's  an  odd  development  of 
the  power  of  politics." 

"Not  so  very  rare,  I  think,"  slid  in  Mr.  Ryan, 
softly.  "I  could  recall  other  instances.  It  is  the 
occasion,  you  know,  that  often  draws  out  the 
man." 

"I  think  it  would  be  fun  to  attend  a  political 
meeting,"  said  Ann  Carew  to  me,  confidentially. 
"It  is  an  experience  I've  never  had.  Are  there  to 
be  any  good  ones  this  week?  " 

"  There  is  to  be  one  to-morrow  evening,  and  John 
North  is  due  to  speak  at  it.  Let  us  make  a  little 
party,  and  go — my  friend  Sam,  your  aunt,  and  I. 
Will  vou  do  it?" 


86  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

She  looked  at  me  with  e\Tes  that  lightened  by  turns. 
For  some  reason,  she  had  become  excited  and 
nervous  during  the  last  few  minutes. 

"I  like  your  friend,  "she  said,  at  length;  "  I  think  I 
shall  like  him.  But  I  must  talk  a  little  with  him 
first.  Bring  him  to  me  after  dinner.  I  have  a 
curiosity  to  see  a  political  meeting,"  she  repeated. 

She  was  going  to  say  something  more,  but  Mrs. 
Hornbuckle  gathered  eyes  just  then,  and  the  ladies 
rose.  When  we  followred  them,  I  presented  Sam, 
and  left  him  and  Ann  Carew  in  earnest  conversa 
tion.  At  the  end  of  the  evening,  she  beckoned  me 
aside  to  say : 

"I  have  decided  to  go.  We  have  made  the 
arrangements.  My  aunt  and  I  will  be  ready  when 
you  call  for  us  to-morrow." 

Sam  and  I  left  the  house  together.  "  That  fellow 
Ryan,"  he  said,  "is  one  of  the  reasons  why  I  can't 
make  out  John  North.  Ryan  is  in  with  one  of  the 
worst  political  rings  in  the  city.  North  can't  be 
ignorant  of  it,  and  yet  the  two  are  close  friends. 
Then  again,  North  has  taken  to  evading  me  and 
some  other  men  who  helped  to  put  him  where  he  is. 
This  is  n't  a  question  of  political  gratitude,  though ; 
I  don't  want  anything  from  anybody,  and  if  I  did 
I  could  get  it  without  having  to  wait  long,  I  guess. 


THE  JOHN   NORTH   MYSTERY.  87 

But  North,  as  the  judge  said,  is  not  the  man  to  let 
his  friends  feel  snubbed.  There's  a  screw  loose, 
somewhere;  I  do  n't  know  where,  but  I  mean  to 
find  out." 

"I  have  no  doubt  you'll  succeed." 

"Miss  Ann  Carew  is  a  nice  young  lady," 
remarked  Sam,  as  we  walked  along.  "  Did  she  ever 
know  him?  " 

"North?    Not  that  I'm  aware." 

"There's  no  telling  about  women.  I  go  this 
way.  See  you  to-morrow.  Good-night." 


The  hall  was  crowded,  but  Sam  secured  good 
seats  for  our  little  party  near  the  stage  on  which 
the  orators  of  the  evening  were  to  hold  forth.  Ann 
Carew's  aunt  sat  bet\veen  Sam  and  myself;  Ann 
herself  was  on  my  right.  She  was  animated,  but 
did  not  talk  much.  She  kept  her  eyes  busy. 

"Do  you  see  John  North,"  she  asked  me. 

As  I  did  not  know  the  man  by  sight,  I  passed 
the  question  to  Sam,  who  shook  his  head.  The 
speaking  began.  It  was  of  the  familiar  campaign 
order,  and  was  received  with  the  familiar  campaign 
enthusiasm.  The  atmosphere  of  the  hall  was  bad, 
and  I  be^an  to  feel  bored.  Bv  and  bv  there  was  a 


88  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

stir  at  the  rear  of  the  stage,  and  the  chairman,  ris 
ing,  announced  Mr.  John  North. 

The  person  thus  designated  made  his  way 
through  the  group,  and  stepped  into  the  vacant 
space  on  the  chairman's  right.  Cheers  were  called 
for,  and  given  with  heartiness.  John  North 
bowed,  and  adjusted  his  spectacles.  He  stood  in  a 
graceful  position,  one  hand  behind  him,  and  the 
other  ready  for  gesture  at  his  side.  In  his 
demeanor  there  was  certainly  nothing  of  the  green 
horn.  He  seemed  a  man  accustomed  to  face 
crowds.  When  silence  was  restored  he  began  to 
speak  quietly,  but,  from  the  very  first,  \vith  effect. 
He  was  a  trained  orator  —  a  trained  orator,  rather 
than  a  natural  one.  Whence  did  he  get  his  train 
ing?  From  a  few  weeks'  experience  of  stump- 
speaking  ?  Who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing  ?  Yet 
here  was  the  fact  before  our  eyes.  I  became  so 
much  interested  in  his  speech  that  I  forgot  all 
about  Ann  Carew.  I  was  recalled  by  an  odd  inci 
dent.  John  North  was  in  the  midst  of  one  of  his 
most  impressive  periods,  and  the  audience  was 
quite  silent,  when  all  at  once  a  laugh  rang  out.  I 
could  scarcely  credit  my  ears,  but  it  was  the  laugh 
of  Ann  Carew. 


THE  JOHN   NORTH    MYSTERY. 


89 


I  stared  at  her  in  consternation.      Nor  was  I  the 


pei 


our 

Ann 
ceived 


only  one  who  stared.  In  a  moment 
party  was  the  center  of  observation 
continued  to  laugh,  but  I  now 
that  her  laugh  was  somewhat 
hysterical.  As  she  was  a  young 
lady  of  absolutely  correct  behav 
ior,  this  was  unaccountable.  The 
ence  began 
mur,  and  citizens 
various  parts 
the  hall  appealed 
indignantly  t  o 
the  chair  for 
order.  Mr. 
North,  after 
an  attempt 
continue  his 
remarks,  was 
forced  to  pause.  Mr.  Ryan, 
whom  I  had  not  observed  before, 
rose  from  a  seat  near  us  and  said : 
"A  young  lady  seems  to  have 
been  taken  ill;  if  the  audience 
will  exercise  forbearance,  her 
friends  will  no  doubt  assist  her  to  leave."  Here- 


90  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

upon,  to  my  additional  dismay,  and  despite  the 
convulsive  efforts  of  her  aunt  to  restrain  her,  Ann 
Carew  stood  up  in  her  place,  and  lifted  her  right 
hand  to  claim  attention,  as  she  might  have  done 
at  school  when  a  child. 

"I  am  not  ill,"  she  said,  in  a  clear  voice,  "but 
I  should  like  to  ask  the  gentleman  who  had  the 
floor  a  question.  Will  he  allow  me  ?  " 

The  audience  \vas  now  still  once  more.  The  peo 
ple  on  the  stage  exchanged  \vhispers.  A  voice  from 
the  gallery  called  out : 

"Sure,  if 'twas  me,  I'd  not  stay  to  be  axed;  I'd 
be  after  doin'  the  axin'  myself." 

The  audience  chuckled  at  the  characteristic  gal 
lantry  of  the  honest  Hibernian,  and  then  listened 
for  what  Ann  might  have  to  say. 

"I  merely  wish  to  ask  the  gentleman  on  the 
stage,"  continued  Ann,  "whether  he  knows  w^ho  I 
am?" 

The  orator  smiled  in  a  sickly  manner,  and  seemed 
to  be  rattled. 

"I  meet  a  good  many  people,"  he  said,  "and  I 
have  very  possibly  seen  you  before,  Miss;  but  I 
can't  say  I  recall  your  face  at  this  moment." 

"No,  you  do  not  know  me,"  broke  in  Ann,  her 
voice  now  rising  high  writh  excitement;  "but  I 


THE  JOHN   NORTH   MYSTKRY.  91 

know  John  North,  and  I  say  to  every  one  in  this  hall 
that  you  are  not — " 

The  rest  of  the  sentence  was  inaudible,  for  it  was 
drowned  in  a  stentorian  shout  of  "  order !  "  from 
Sam,  followed  by  general  uproar,  and  vigorous 
hammering  with  the  chairman's  gavel.  Sam  bent 
across  and  whispered  to  me : 

"We  must  get  her  out  of  this  at  once,  or  there'll 
be  trouble." 

Our  seats  being  on  the  aisle,  we  had  little  diffi 
culty  in  escaping,  and  we  were  all  four  of  us  soon 
in  our  carriage,  with  Ann  sobbing  in  her  corner, 
but  saying  nothing ;  while  her  aunt  was  too  much 
scandalized  for  coherent  speech.  As  Sam  and  I 
were  awaiting  further  developments  before  com 
mitting  ourselves,  the  drive  home  was  a  silent 
one.  We  reached  the  house  and  marched  in  single 
file  into  the  drawing  room. 

"Now,  Miss  Carew,"  said  Sam,  with  composed 
cheerfulness,  "just  you  sit  down  and  tell  us  all 
about  it.  You've  got  the  key  to  this  puzzle,  and 
you  must  open  the  lock.  I  have  suspected  all 
along  there  was  something  crooked  going  on,  and 
I'm  sure  of  it  now;  but  I  don't  know  -what  it  is, 
and  you  do;  so  out  with  it,  and  don't  be  afraid 
but  what  we  can  make  it  right  again." 


92  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

"Ann,  you  have  behaved  disgracefully,  and  I 
think  the  kindest  thing  these  gentlemen  can  do  is 
to  forget  all  about  it.  I'm  sure  I  was  never  so 
scandalized  and  frightened  in  my  life,"  declared  the 
poor  aunt,  agitatedly. 

"This is  a  serious  matter,  madam,  and  must  be 
sifted  to  the  bottom,"  said  Sam,  turning  to  the 
old  lady,  with  a  grave  face.  "Miss  Carew  had 
good  cause  to  do  as  she  did,  and  not  only  we,  but 
the  public  of  this  city  will,  I  expect,  have  reason  to 
be  grateful  to  her.  So  now,  my  dear,"  he  added, 
to  the  girl,  "what  is  it  wrong  about  this  John 
North  we  saw  to-night  ?  " 

Ann  sat  erect,  and  lifted  her  tear-stained  face. 

"John  North!"  she  cried;  "that  creature  John 
North  ?  He  is  an  impostor !  The  moment  I  heard 
his  voice  I  knew  he  was  not  John  North." 

"Why,  Ann,  what  do  you  know  of  any  John 
North?"  exclaimed  the  aunt;  "I'm  sure  I  never 
heard  of  him  till  yesterday." 

"I  know  John  North ;  I  met  him  two  years  ago  ; 
we  \vere  engaged ;  but  then  \ve  quarreled,  and  I 
have  not  seen  him  since." 

At  this  information,  the  aunt  collapsed  upon  the 
sofa,  and  Sam  said  cheerfully : 


THE  JOHN   NORTH   MYSTERY.  93 

"Come,  that's  straight  and  to  the  point.  You 
are  certain  that  this  man  is  not  your  John  North, 
and  that  your  John  is  the  same  one  the  judge 
was  talking  of  last  night  ?  " 

"A  girl  knows  the  man  she  loves — has  loved," 
said  Ann,  the  color  rushing  to  her  face. 

"  But  this  fellow  looks  something  like  him?  " 

"Oh,   I  suppose  he  does — something;    but  not 
enough     to    deceive     anybody   with    eyes,"    she 
replied,  impatiently.     "And  then  his  voice — ah — 
She  stopped,  evidently  in  deep  emotion. 

"Still  this  may  not  be  an  imposter,"  said  I  to 
Sam,  aside.  "There  may  be  two  John  Norths, 
both  genuine;  and  as  to  their  personal  resemblance 
that  is  by  no  means  so  uncommon  a  thing  as  most 
people  think." 

Sam  shook  his  head.  "I  have  been  puzzled  all 
along  by  a  change  in  the  man ;  he  has  not  looked 
or  acted  quite  the  same  since  the  day  or  two  fol 
lowing  his  first  appearance  on  the  rostrum.  Then 
again,  if  he  is  an  impostor,  it  will  explain  one 
problem  that  has  troubled  me  all  along." 

"A  problem?" 

" The  wav  in  \vhich  the  'ring'  people  suddenly 
turned  and  supported  him." 

"How  is  that?" 


94  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  Sam,  with  some  severity, 
"John  North  is  a  genuine  reformer,  not  one  for 
revenue  only,  and  therefore  he  is  the  mortal  enemy 
of  the  men  who  are  posing  in  that  hall  as  his  friends 
and  supporters.  The  judge  is  an  old  innocent,  and 
is  honestly  humbugged ;  but  I  suppose  you  and  I 
know  better.  These  rascals  have  run  across  a  man 
whom  anyone  but  the  girl  who  loves  him  would 
mistake  for  the  real  John,  but  who  is  in  fact  a 
creature  of  their  own,  secretly  pledged  to  support 
them  in  all  their  iniquities,  and  a  clever  orator  to 
boot.  Well,  they  put  the  real  man  out  of  the  "way, 
and  stick  this  fellow  in  his  place.  Do  you  begin  to 
see  which  way  the  cat  jumps  now?  " 

"Put  him  out  of  the  way  ?" 

"In  one  fashion  or  another.  I  mean  to  find  out 
how.  There  are  desperate  men  among  them,  and 
John  North  has  shown  that  he  is  a  hard  man  to 
subdue.  If  they  could  n't  head  him  off  in  any  other 
way,  they  have  made  another  Cronin  case  out  of 
him.  This  is  the  nineteenth  centur\-,  I  know,  and 
we  are  a  highly  civilized  people;  but  such  things 
do  happen." 

"It  seems  too  bold;  the  risk  is  too  great;  I  can 
hardly  believe  it." 

"  The  audacity  makes  it  safe.  The  public  is  never 


THE  JOHN   NORTH   MYSTERY.  95 

inclined  to  believe  the  \vorst.  Besides,  John  North 
is  known  personally  to  very  few  persons.  This 
girl  may  be  the  only  human  being  who  can  cer 
tainly  identify  him.  If  the  man  still  lives  she  will 
be  the  means  of  saving  his  life.  By  the  way,  Miss 
Carew,"  he  added,  turning  to  her,  "did  North  ever 
speak  to  you  about  any  invention  that  he  was 
interested  in?" 

"He  invented  a  car-coupling;  it  was  when  the 
judge  spoke  of  that  last  night  that  I  knew  it  must 
be  my  John  North." 

"Well,  that  settles  it,"  said  Sam,  nodding  his 
head  and  getting  up.  "There  can't  be  two  John 
Norths,  both  of  \vhom  invented  car-couplings. 
Miss  Carew,  you  have  made  the  most  important 
political  stroke  of  this  campaign.  I  shall  be  back 
here  in  two  hours.  If  I  bring  back  the  genuine 
John  North  to  you,  will  you  kiss  and  make  up  with 
him?" 

"I  \vill — kiss  you,"  said  Ann,  with  a  sparkle  in 
her  eyes  and  a  flame  in  her  cheeks. 

"I'll  earn  that  kiss,  or  know  the  reason  why," 
returned  Sam,  with  a  deep  respect  in  his  voice  that 
made  me  love  him.  "Come  along,"  he  added  to 
me.  "I'll  show  you  some  of  the  inside  of  New 
York  politics." 


96  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

We  went  to  the  east  side,  and  stopped  before  a 
modest  brown-stone  house  in  the  midst  of  a  block. 
At  the  foot  of  the  steps  Sam  turned  to  me  and 
said: 

"Have  you  got  a  gun?" 

"Of  course  I  haven't.     Do  you  expect — " 

"Well,  I  have  two,  and  you  may  as  well  take 
one.  We  may  run  across  a  gorilla,  or  a  —  tiger, 
you  know.  Put  it  in  your  pocket,  and  say  no 
more  about  it  unless  I  give  the  word.  Now,  then!" 

He  rang  the  bell,  and  the  door  was  opened  by  a 
stout,  low-browed  fellow,  in  a  black  cardigan 
jacket. 

"Ah,  Tom,"  said  Sam,  shouldering  in  past  him, 
followed  by  myself,  who  was  feeling  anything  but 
comfortable.  "Tell  the  Boss  I  must  sec  him  right 
away." 

"De  Boss  ain't  at  home,"  began  the  fellow;  but 
Sam  cut  him  short. 

"If  he  isn't  at  home,  it'll  be  as  much  as  your 
place  is  worth  —  or  his  either,  for  that  matter. 
This  is  biz, my  lad  —  see?  That'll  do ;  you  go  back 
downstairs,  and  "we'll  find  our  way.  Now,  cap 
tain." 

Encouraged  by  this  title,  I  followed  my  conduc 
tor  upstairs  and  into  a  small  room  in  the  rear, 


THE  JOHN   NORTH   MYSTERY. 


97 


fitted  up  as  a  library.  A  man  who  had  been  seated 
at  a  table  stood  up  and  faced  us.  It  was  Mr. 
Ryan. 

" Evening,  old  man,"  said  Sam,  curtly,  taking  in 
the  room   at  a  glance  and 
stepping  in  front  of  a  door 
at  the  rear,  which  was  partly 
open.      "Nice    meeting    to 
night,  was  n't  it?     Hate  to 
bother    you,  but    this  con 
founded      election     hurries 
things    up    so !      It    is 
that  North  aifair,  you 
know." 

"Glad  to  see  you,  gentle 
men,"  said  Ryan,  with  a 
pale  grin.  "I  really  don't 
know — " 

"I  was  sure  of  that.  But  we  must  go  through 
the  forms,  you  know.  Here's  the  warrant  for  your 
arrest — the  bail  won't  be  over  twenty  thousand. 
Put  on  your  coat,  and  we'll  step  round  to  the  office 
and  get  the  thing  fixed  up  and  be  back  here  in  time 
for  breakfast.  How's  that  ?  " 

"A  warrant  for  my  arrest?  On  what  charge? 
Are  you  aware  — 


98  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

"Oh,  I  say!  It  was  a  mighty  smart  move,  but 
we've  been  onto  you  from  the  start.  I  was  for  set 
tling  it  quietly,  as  between  friends ;  but  I'm  afraid 
it's  too  late  now.  We  gave  you  the  straight  tip 
more  than  once,  but  you  wouldn't  take  it.  You 
can't  expect  to  kidnap  a  man  like  that,  and  have 
nobody  squeal.  Do  you  chaps  want  the  earth? 
Maybe  you'll  get  it;  but  John  North  is  another 
thing." 

As  he  uttered  the  last  word  Sam  made  a  move 
ment  as  quick  as  lightning,  and  Ryan  was  covered 
by  his  revolver.  The  hand  of  the  latter  had  been 
creeping  toward  a  drawer  in  the  table.  He  with 
drew  it  with  a  start,  and  sank  into  his  chair.  Sam 
reached  over,  felt  in  the  drawer,  and  possessed 
himself  of  the  other's  weapon. 

"It's  a  good  make,"  he  remarked,  examining  it 
critically,  and  ejecting  the  cartridges.  "I  like  my 
own  better,  though.  Well,  let  us  get  down  to  bus 
iness.  No  funny  work.  What  do  you  propose? 
There's  more  things  hanging  over  your  head,  Mike 
Ryan,  than  there  are  hams  on  the  ceiling  of  a  cor 
ner  grocery.  If  anything  drops,  there  won't  be 
enough  of  you  left  to  pick  up.  That's  all." 

Ryan  was  silent  for  a  minute  or  two.  Then  he 
looked  up  and  said  politelv : 


THE  JOHN   NORTH   MYSTERY.  99 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  gentlemen?  Anything 
in  my  power  I  shall  be  happy  to  — 

"It's  just  this,  Mike;  we  have  urgent  business 
with  Mr.  North  —  not  the  orator,  you  know,  but 
the  one  you  persuaded  to  go  into  temporary  retire 
ment.  If  you  can  produce  him  within  a  reasonable 
time  —  say  three  minutes  —  I  might  contrive  to 
mislay  this  warrant,  and  then —  How  does  that 
strike  you?" 

"That  will  be  all,  will  it?  You  see,  I'm  in  an 
accommodating  mood." 

"That's  all;  except  that  our  oratorical  friend 
must  work  some  other  claim — the  further  from 
here  the  better  for  him." 

"Of  course  you  understand  my  position,"  said 
Ryan,  recovering  his  smoothness  of  manner. 
"  What  was  done  was  for  the  best  interests  of  Mr. 
North  —  almost,  I  might  say,  at  his  instance.  He 
has  had  no  practice  in  public  speaking,  and  his 
health  made  it  unsafe  for  him  to  undertake  a  cam 
paign  at  this  inclement  season.  We  wanted  him 
to  reserve  his  strength  for  the  work  of  the  office, 
and  we  fortunately  found  a  gentleman  qualified  to 
take  his  place  on  the  stump  as  his  locum  tenens. 
Meanwhile,  Mr.  North  has  been  enjoying  a  com 
plete  rest,  much  to  his  benefit,  as  you  will — " 


100  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

"Just  two  minutes,"  interposed  Sam,  glancing 
at  his  watch.  "  I  love  to  hear  you  talk,  Ryan,  but 
you  know  how  I'm  fixed." 

"Will  you  trouble  yourself  to  call  Tom?"  said 
Ryan,  smiling.  "I  believe  he  has  been  under  your 
orders  since  you  came  here.  Ask  him  to  request 
the  gentleman  upstairs  to  step  this  way." 

To  make  a  long  story  shorter,  in  half  an  hour  we 
had  John  North, — the  real  John, — not  so  much  the 
worse  for  his  three  weeks'  seclusion,  safe  in  the 
Carews'  drawing  room ;  and  Sam  had  earned  and 
received  his  reward.  What  Ann  and  North  had  to 
say  to  each  other,  I  know  not ;  but  I  hear  they  are 
to  be  married  on  Christmas  eve.  Their  quarrel,  I 
understand,  \vas  on  the  matter  of  Ann's  wealth. 
She  wanted  to  give  it  all  to  him,  and  he  refused  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  it.  But,  now  that  his 
invention  has  been  adopted,  he  will  be  at  least  as 
rich  as  she.  Thanks  to  the  eloquence  of  his  locum 
tenens  he  was  triumphantly  elected,  and  is  making 
himself  felt  in  his  new  position.  The  public  never 
has,  and  will  never  know  how  near  they  came  to 
losing  him.  Whether  the  "Boys  "  know  it  I  can't 
say.  If  they  do,  there  are  reasons  why  they  won't 
complain. 


THE  JOHN   NORTH   MYSTERY.  101 

Sam  is  an  extraordinary  man.  His  intuition 
seems  to  be  equal  to  his  knowledge.  As  for  that 
warrant  which  he  produced  so  pat  to  the  occasion, 
I  have  the  best  of  reasons  for  believing  that  it  was 
only  a  blank  form,  and  that  Mr.  Ryan  was  under 
110  obligations  to  be  so  obliging  as  he  was.  John 
North  was  inclined  to  make  it  hot  for  his  quondam 
host  at  first,  but  he  was  persuaded  to  think  better 
of  it,  and  Mr.  Ryan  is  still  an  honorable  member 
of  the  community. 


A  MODEL  MURDER. 


^    TN  one    of  the    streets  above 
Union    Square,    there    is    a 
\vaxwork  exhibition  known 
as  the  "  Paradise  Museum," 
or  some  such  name.    It  has  an 
ornamental  facade,  and  the  fun 
|j  begins    even    before    you    have 
bought  your  ticket.   Persons  who 
I,  look  real,  but    who    are  reallv 

J 

wax,  stand  about  the  ticket 
office  with  intent  to  deceive. 
Within  are  groups  and  single  figtires,  artfully  dis 
posed  among  the  living  spectators,  and  seeming 
to  join  with  them  in  admiration  of  \vaxen  kings 
and  queens,  statesmen  and  musicians,  criminals 
and  authors,  who  are  avowedly  on  exhibition. 
But  should  you  address  to  one  of  them  words  of 
friendly  inquiry,  or  ask  him  to  make  more  room 
on  the  bench,  or  to  stand  aside  and  give  you  a 
chance  to  see  something,  his  unresponsiveness  and 
immobility  strike  you,  and,  glancing  more  nar- 

103 


104  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

rowly  at  him,  }rou  discover  that  he  lacks  a  soul. 
The  revelation  gives  you  a  shock,  and  you  end  by 
distrusting  the  reality  even  of  your  familiar  friends. 

Finding  myself  the  other  day  \vith  half  a  dollar 
in  my  pocket  at  the  door  of  this  paradisaical  insti 
tution,  I  went  in  to  refresh  my  recollections  of  the 
crowned  heads  and  other  eminent  personages  of 
foreign  lands.  After  exploring  the  rooms  on  the 
ground  floor,  and  resisting  the  blandishments  of 
more  recondite  mysteries  at  ten  cents  extra,  I  came 
to  a  broad  flight  of  steps  leading  downward. 
Descending,  I  arrived  in  a  sort  of  crypt,  with 
recesses  and  branching  corridors,  wherein  were 
exposed  such  scenes  and  characters  as,  by  reason 
of  their  ghastly  and  sinister  quality,  had  been 
segregated  from  the  more  cheerful  assemblage 
upstairs.  In  the  lamplit  gloom  of  this  region  a 
dozen  or  more  visitors  were  strolling  about,  and 
among  them  I  was  glad  to  recognize  my  young 
friend  Mr.  Alexander  Cholmondely  Phipps,  and  his 
genial  uncle,  Major  Foljambe. 

Mr.  Phipps  is  just  twenty  years  old.  On  his 
majority,  he  will  come  into  possession  of  a  good 
deal  of  property ;  his  uncle  in  the  meantime  acts  as 
his  guardian  and  trustee.  The  major  is  a  Virgin 
ian,  and  his  military  rank  was  won  by  gallant 


A    MODEL    MURDER.  105 

service  in  the  Lost  Cause.  lie  is  a  hearty  and 
winning  old  gentleman,  more  of  a  boy  than  his 
nephew,  who,  indeed,  has  the  air  of  a  man  of  the 
world  for  whom  few  illusions  survive.  He  has 
been  to  Europe  (Mr.  Phipps  has),  and  has  seen 
society  and  life  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic.  He 
plays  the  races  moderately,  drops  into  Daly's 
when  the  other  places  are  shut  up,  sips  a  cocktail 
in  the  Hoffman  House  cafe,  discusses  with  Mr. 
Edwards  the  prospects  of  the  coming  mill,  break 
fasts  at  noon  at  Delmonico's,  has  a  box  or  at  stall 
on  first  nights  at  the  theaters,  and  arrays  himself 
with  an  assiduity  and  taste  that  prompts  one  to 
rejoice  that  Eve  ate  the  apple.  In  stature,  Mr. 
Alexander  Cholmondely  Phipps  is  not  so  much  tall 
as  short,  and  more  slender  than  massive;  but 
there  is  in  his  gait  and  bearing  a  repose  and 
dignity  which  more  than  compensate  for  his  physi 
cal  unimportance.  He  is,  I  have  been  informed,  a 
terrible  fellow  with  women,  and  a  man  to  stand  no 
nonsense  from  beings  of  his  own  sex.  His  speech 
is  slow  and  considered,  and  he  is  unable  to  divest 
himself,  even  in  this  country,  of  a  slight  English 
accent. 

Fortunate  in  so  many  respects,  Mr.  Phipps  is 
perhaps  especially  blessed  in  his  uncle.     The  major 


106 


six  CENT  SAM'S. 


not  only  serves  as  a  perfect  foil  to  his  nephew,  but  is 
lost  in  admiration  of  him,  quotes  his  sayings  and 
celebrates  his  doings,  follows  him  about  as  a  child 
follows  an  organ-grinder's  monkey,  roars  at  his 
pleasantries,  and  backs  his  opinions.  Major 
Foljambe  is  six  feet  high,  and  weighs  two  hundred 
and  thirty  pounds ;  his  garments  are  effusive,  care 
less  and  full  of  color ;  his  face  is  fleshy  and  rosy,  his 
eyes  twinkle,  his  laugh  is  joyous  and  contagious, 
his  speech  full-lunged  and  mellow,  and  soft  with 
the  Virginia  atmosphere.  He 
retains  all  the  illusions  which 
Alexander  Cholmondely  has 
outgrown ;  and  though 
tracks  about  after  him  as 
long  as  he  can  keep  ^^ 
awake,  and  does  his  fair 
share  of  the  birds,  bottles, 
and  cigars,  his  eyes  are  innocent  of  iniquity,  and 
his  heart  is  without  guile.  Altogether,  the  two 
make  a  delectable  team. 

"By  Gad,  sah,  I'm  glad  to  see  you,"  cried  the 
major,  grasping  my  hand.  " Where  've  yo'  been 
keepin'  yo'  se'f?  Aleck  and  I  tho't  we'd  take  in 
the  show,  heah.  Oh,  let  me  make  yo'  acquainted 
with  our  friend,  Lord  Camovs;  Aleck  used  to  know 


A    MODEL    MURDER.  107 

some   of  his  folks   abroad.     They  tell   me  this  is 
nothing  alongside  of  Mrs.  Twoso's,  in  London." 

"  Not  half  bad,  though, "  remarked  Lord  Camoys, 
a  reserved  and  well  groomed  young  Englishman, 
who  had  acknowledged  the  introduction  with  a 
scrutinizing  monocle  and  a  slight  bow. 

"There's  an  element  of — er — vulgarity  in  wax 
works,  don't  you  know,"  Air.  Phipps  observed, 
touching  his  moustache  fastidiously  with  the  tip 
of  the  ring-finger  of  his  right  hand. 

"Well,  I  reckon  yo'  right  about  that,"  themajor 
assented,  thoughtfully. 

We  were  standing  in  front  of  one  of  a  series  of 
scenes,  in  which  is  portrayed  the  story  of  a  murder. 
The  impressiveness  of  the  scene  was  somewhat 
marred  by  the  fact  that  a  couple  of  workmen  were 
engaged  in  putting  in  position  a  new  model  of  the 
figure  of  the  murdered  man,  the  original  having 
presumably  been  injured. 

"That's  more  like  life  than  any  of 'em,  Camoys," 
said  Phipps,  indicating  the  corpse  with  the  handle 
of  his  silver-mounted  cane.    "I've  seen  achap  shot, 
and  he  looked  a  good  bit  like  that." 
The  major  shouted  with  laughter. 

"Like  life!  Ha,  ha,  ha!  By  Gad,  sah,  that's 
immense!  Ain't  it?  Ha,  ha,  ha!" 


108  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

"The  corpse  was  not  of  your  own  manufacture, 
I  trust,  Mr.  Phipps,"  said  I. 

"No,"  he  replied,  languidly.  "I  make  a  point  of 
always  going  armed,  though.  No  telling  \vhat 
may  happen  in  this  country,  you  know,  Camoys. 
If  a  fellow  insults  you,  I  believe  in  shooting  him, 
by  Jove.  Call  him  out  first,  of  course,  and  that 
sort  of  thing." 

"He's  right,"  said  the  faithful  major.  "No 
decent  society  possible  without  the  code,  sah. 
Show  Camoys  that  little  gun  of  yo's,  Aleck." 

"It's  —  er  —  a  neat  little  thing,"  said  Aleck,  pro 
ducing  from  his  hip-pocket  a  silver  mounted,  pearl 
handled  toy  of  death.  "I'll  lay  I  can  make  a  bull's- 
eye  with  that  at  twenty  paces,  nine  times  in  ten. 
Take  me? " 

"Don't  care  if  I  do,"  answered  the  Englishman. 
"Hundred  even." 

"Done.  Uncle,  you  hold  the  money.  We  can 
drop  into  Burton's  gallery  on  our  way  up  town, 
and  bring  it  off.  Haven't  you  had  enough  of  this 
hole?" 

"I'm  with  you,  old  chap,"  said  his  lordship.  "I 
say,  by  the  way,  I  want  you  to  stop  at  my  hotel 
and  meet  my  cousin,  Mrs.  Cavendish.  Nice  girl. 
Husband  on  his  way  to  join  her  on  the  next 


A    MODKL    MURDER.  109 

steamer.  She's  heard  of  you,  and  made  me  prom 
ise  to  bring  you.  Fancy  you'll  like  her." 

"With  the  greatest  of  pleasure,  old  chap," 
responded  Aleck;  and  with  that  the  party  took 
their  leave,  leaving  me  a  good  deal  interested  in 
Lord  Camoys.  He  seemed  to  me  an  unusually 
observant  and  thoughtful  young  Englishman. 

Late  the  next  afternoon,  I  ran  into  the  major  on 
the  corner  of  Thirty-Seventh  street  and  Fifth  ave 
nue.  He  grasped  me  as  if  I  were  a  life-preserver  in 
a  stormy  sea. 

"By  Gad, my  boy,  this  is  luck.  Yo'  just  the  man 
I  wanted.  Come  up  to  my  rooms.  Most  te'ible 
thing,  sah,  that  evah  was  known.  Must  tell  yo' 
'bout  it.  Come  up!  I'm  just  'bout  distracted, 
that  I  am,  sah." 

In  a  few  minutes  we  "were  in  his  sitting  room. 
The  major  did  certainly  appear  to  be  out  of  order, 
as  he  sank  panting  into  a  chair. 

Though  the  weather  was  cool,  he  was  perspiring 
profusely.  His  gray  hair  was  unbrushed.  His 
crimson  neck-scarf  was  untied,  and  hung  down  over 
his  rumpled  shirt  front.  His  right  boot  was  unbut 
toned  ;  his  complexion  indicated  sleeplessness,  and 
there  was  unaffected  anguish  in  his  expression. 
His  tale,  in  substance,  was  as  follows : 


110  six  CENT  SAM'S.    ' 

He  and  Aleck  had  parted,  after  the  visit  to  decide 
the  shooting  wager  at  Burton's  gallery;  Aleck  had 
lost  by  three  points.  Aleck  and  Camoys  then  went 
to  call  on  Mrs.  Cavendish,  and  the  major  repaired 
to  his  club.  It  was  understood  that  the  party 
were  to  reunite  and  dine  there  at  seven  o'clock,  and 
then  go  to  the  opera.  At  half-past  seven,  the 
young  men  not  having  appeared,  the  major  ate  his 
dinner  alone,  smoked  his  cigar,  split  a  brandy  and 
soda  with  his  friend  Colonel  Magruder,  and  looked 
in  at  the  opera.  Neither  Aleck  nor  Camoys  were 
there.  Until  midnight,  the  old  gentleman  strolled 
about  from  one  resort  to  another,  and  then  went 
home.  In  expectation  of  Aleck's  return,  he  waited 
up  till  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  then  fell 
into  an  uneasy  sleep  on  the  sofa.  At  nine  A.  M.  he 
was  awakened  by  the  appearance  of  Camoys,  with 
a  very  grave  face.  He  held  in  his  hand  a  sealed 
letter,  written  by  Aleck,  and  containing  these  words : 

"DEAR  UNCLE: — Lord  Camoys  will  tellyou  that  my  life  is  in 
danger,  and  the  reason  why.  I  am  in  hiding,  and  shall  leave 
the  country  on  the  first  opportunity.  Make  a  draft  for  ten 
thousand  dollars,  get  it  cashed,  and  hand  the  money  to 
Camoys  for  me.  For  God's  sake,  and  as  you  value  my  safety, 
lose  no  time.  If  I  am  discovered  before  I  can  get  off,  it  is  all  up 
with  me.  Camoys  will  explain  everything. 

"Your  affectionate  nephew, 

"ALEX.  C.  PHIPPS." 


A    MODEL    MURDER.  Ill 

The  letter  was  dated  at  four  o'clock  the  same 
morning. 

Lord  Camoys,  on  being  besought  by  the  agitated 
major  to  let  him  know  the  worst,  related  that 
lie  and  Aleck  had,  as  arranged,  called  on  Mrs. 
Cavendish.  "Mrs.  Cavendish,"  Camoys  had 
observed,  "is  a  very  beautiful  woman.  Your 
nephew,  as  you  know,  is  a  dangerously  fascinating 
man.  Mr.  Cavendish,  her  husband,  was  an  elderly 
man,  infatuated  with  his  young  wife,  and,  unfortu 
nately,  insanely  jealous  of  her.  It  was  almost  his 
only  foible,  except  a  naturally  violent  and  ungov 
ernable  temper." 

Camoys  went  on  to  say  that  Aleck  and  Mrs. 
Cavendish  had  at  once  taken  a  most  extraordi 
nary  fancy  to  one  another.  It  \vas,  in  fact,  a  case 
of  love  at  first  sight.  Camoys  declared  that  he  had 
never  seen  anything  like  it.  At  first  he  became 
amused,  then  uneasy,  and  finally  he  was  alarmed. 
Nothing  he  could  say  availed  to  restrain  the  mad 
ness  of  the  young  people.  They  seemed  to  be 
hurried  quite  beyond  their  self-control.  At  length, 
in  despair,  Camoys  had  started  to  find  the  major, 
in  the  hope  that  his  influence  with  his  nephew 
might  be  effective.  To  his  horror,  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs,  he  encountered  Mr.  Cavendish,  wrho  had 


six  CENT  SAM'S. 

arrived  a  day  earlier  than  he  had  been  expected. 
Camoys  tried  to  prevent  him  from  going  upstairs, 
and  then  to  delay  him  long  enough  to  give  warning 
to  Aleck.  But  it  was  in  vain  ;  Cavendish  became 
suspicious,  rushed  upstairs,  burst  into  the  room — 
and  found  his  wife  in  Aleck's  arms. 

A  terrible  scene  ensued.  After  a  torrent  of  violent 
language  Cavendish  struck  Aleck  a  bio  win  the  face. 
Aleck,  who,  according  to  Camoys,  had  remained 
calm  and  dignified  throughout,  could  do  no  other 
wise  than  demand  the  satisfaction  due  to  the  honor 
of  a  gentleman.  Leaving  the  hotel  and  Mrs. 
Cavendish  they  proceeded  to  Camoys'  rooms. 
There  the  duel  took  place.  Cavendish  was  foam 
ing  with  rage;  Aleck  was  composed.  At  a  signal 
given  by  Camoys,  they  fired  at  a  distance  apart  of 
ten  paces.  Aleck's  bullet  pierced  Cavendish's  right 
temple,  and  the  man  fell  dead. 

"Good  Gad,  sah,"  moaned  the  major,  mopping 
his  forehead  and  staring  me  piteously  in  the 
face,  "Did  yo'  evah  heah  of  anythin'  so  te'ible  in 
yo'bo'ndays?" 

At  my  earnest  request  he  resumed  his  narrative. 
He  had  asked  Camoys  what  disposition  had  been 
made  of  the  body.  The  Englishman  had  replied 
that  it  still  lay  where  it  had  fallen,  in  his  rooms; 


A    MODEL    MURDKR.  113 

and  he  insisted  that  the  major  should  accompany 
him  thither  and  view  it.  "I  am  obliged  to  con 
sider  myself,  major,"  he  had  remarked,  "and  lean- 
not  undergo  alone  the  responsibility  of  this  tragic 
affair."  He  added  that  out  of  friendship  for  Aleck 
and  at  his  entreaty,  he  had  consented  to  do  the 
best  he  could  to  dispose  of  the  corpse  secretly,  or, 
if  possible,  to  feign  the  case  to  be  one  of  suicide. 
For  the  success  of  this  plan,  however,  it  would  be 
indispensable  to  buy  outright  a  physician,  a.  detec 
tive,  a  coroner,  a  judge  and  a  newspaper;  and 
that  would  make  a  large  hole  in  ten  thousand 
dollars.  Meanwhile,  the  most  pressing  duty  of  the 
moment  was  to  remove  Aleck  out  of  the  reach  of 
danger.  If  caught,  he  would  unquestionably  be 
hanged,  \vhich,  as  Camoys  justly  observed,  would 
be  a  pity,  since  he  had  behaved  admirably  all 
through,  and  slain  his  man  in  fair  fight.  All  this 
while  Camoys  had  been  dragging  the  reluctant 
major  along  to  his  rooms,  where,  at  this  juncture, 
they  arrived.  Sick  at  heart,  the  major  mounted 
the  stairs,  and  entered  the  fatal  chamber. 

"Nevah  seen  such  a  awful  sight  in  my  life,  sah," 
said  the  major.  "There  he  lay,  on  his  back,  with 
a  hole  through  his  head,  welte'iiig  in  his  go'h.  It 
made  me  sick,  I  assuah  you,  sah." 

8 


114 


six  CENT  SAM'S. 


"You  actually  saw  him  dead,  then?  "I  asked, 
not  a  little  startled  at  this  consummation;  for  I 
confess  that  I  had  up  to  this  time  hoped  that  the 
major's  credulity  had  in  some  manner  been  played 
upon. 

"Saw  him?  Yo'  can  bet  yo'  life  I  saw  him," 
returned  the  old  warrior.  "An'  in  all  my  wah 
expe'ience,  sah,  I  nevah  encountah'd  so  ghastly  a 
spectacle." 

It  had  then  been  close  on  to  ten  o'clock,  and  the 
banks  were  open ;  the  money  must  be  drawn  out 
at  once.  Major  Foljambe  had  expressed  to  Lord 
Camoys  a  desire  to  see  Aleck ;  but  the  latter  had 
pointed  out  that,  were  they  to  go  together  to 
Aleck's  place  of  concealment,  they  might  be  fol 
lowed  by  detectives,  and  thus 
all  their  precautions  be  frus 
trated. 

"  Your  relationship  to  him  is 
known,"  the  Englishman  had 
said,  "and  if  anything  has 
leaked  out,  you  -would  be 
tracked  wherever  you  go.  If 
you  refrain  from  going  near 
Aleck  at  present,  it's  certain 
he  will  not  be  discovered  through  you;  and  if  I 


A    MODEL    MURDER.  115 

do  n't  reveal  to  you  where  he  is,  you  will  be  able 
truthfully  to  take  your  oath,  if  necessary,  that  you 
don't  know." 

The  major  could  not  controvert  these  argu 
ments,  and  they  went  to  the  bank,  where  the  check 
was  drawn  and  cashed,  and  the  money  handed  to 
Camoys.  The  latter  then  left  him,  promising  to 
return  and  report  progress  at  or  before  four 
o'clock.  The  major  had  waited  till  six,  and  then 
fearing  the  worst,  had  been  on  his  way  to  visit 
the  offices  of  all  the  steamship  lines,  when  he  had 
met  me. 

"Let  us,"  said  I,  after  an  interval  of  profound 
consideration,  "go  down  to  Six  Cent  Sam's. 
There  are  some  features  of  this  thing  that  strike 
me  as  queer.  If  anybody  can  help,  Sam  is  the 
man.  Come  with  me,  major,  and  tell  your  tale  to 
him." 

We  repaired  to  the  obscure  retreat  in  question, 
.and  I  presented  the  major  to  Sam.  The  latter, 
after  hearing  the  story,  said : 

"I'm  afraid  your  nephew  fell  into  bad  company, 
major.  I  have  heard  of  Lord  Camoys  before.  I 
guess  it'll  be  too  late  to  save  the  cash,  but  we  will 
probably  be  able  to  rescue  Master  Aleck.  Take  us 
to  Camoys'  apartments,  the  first  thing." 


116  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

When  we  got  there,  the  door  was  locked;  but 
Sam,  \vho  never  seemed  delayed  or  disturbed  by 
any  obstacle,  soon  had  it  open.  Within,  all  was 
dark;  Sam  struck  a  match,  and  lit  the  gas.  The 
room  thus  disclosed  was  scantily  furnished,  and 
the  bare  table,  which  stood  in  the  center  of  the 
floor,  was  covered  with  dust.  At  the  further  end 
of  the  room  was  another  door,  which  was  closed. 
We  walked  round  the  table,  and  I  saw,  with  a 
start,  a  confused  object  extended  on  the  floor  at 
my  feet.  It  seemed  to  be  the  body  of  a  man,  lying 
on  its  back,  with  the  face  exposed.  In  the  forehead 
was  a  gaping  wound,  from  which  a  dark  stream 
of  blood  had  flowed  downward  across  the  cheek, 
and  matted  the  gray  hair.  It  was,  as  the  major 
had  said,  a  ghastly  spectacle.  Sam  looked  nar 
rowly  at  it  a  moment,  and  then  glanced  up  at  us 
with  a  curious  low  chuckle. 

"Good  Gad,  sah?"  exclaimed  the  horrified 
major,  "how  can  a  man  with  a  human  heart  in  his 
bosom  look  upon  a  sight  like  that  and  find  any 
thing  to  amu.se  him  ?  Are  you  a  man,  sah  ?  " 

"If  I  am,"  returned  Sam,  drily,  "that's  more 
than  this  thing  ever  was.  Besides  that,  I've  seen 
it  before." 

"Seen  it  befo',  sah?"  cried  the  major,  "how  can 


A    MODEL    MURDER.  117 

that  be?  Don't  I  tell  3-0'  that  the  man  was  killed 
only  this  mawnin',  sah?" 

"All  the  same,  I  saw  this  corpse  as  long  as  six 
months  ago,"  answered  Sam,  quietly.  "About 
that  time,  I  happened  to  look  in  one  day  at  a  place 
you  may  never  have  visited  — the  Paradise  Museum, 
they  call  it.  This  corpse  was  part  of  an  exhibit  in 
a  model  of  a  murder  in  the  Chamber  of  Horrors 
there.  They  have  replaced  it  by  another,  I  sup 
pose,  and  sold  this  one  for  old  junk.  Your  friend 
Lord  Camoys  bought  it,  and  has  turned  it  to 
profitable  account,  if,  as  you  say,  you  gave  him 
ten  thousand  dollars  for  it.  It  was  a  clever  trick, 
though,  and  I  give  him  credit."  So  saying,  Sam 
gave  the  thing  a  kick,  and  the  waxen  face  sepa-r 
rated  from  the  mass  of  cl'othes  and  the  bolster  with 
•which  it  had  been  connected,  and  the  whole  fraud 
was  exposed. 

The  major  stood  stupefied.  "Tha'  must  have 
been  somebody  killed  though,"  he  ejaculated  at 
last.  "Where's  the  real  co'pse?" 

"He  has  lived  to  fight  another  day,  I'm  afraid," 
said  Sam.  "Perhaps  Master  Aleck  will  be  able  to 
tell  us  something  about  that.  Let's  ask  him." 

"We  don'  know  wha'  he  is,  sah,"  rejoined  the 
major. 


118 


SIX   CENT   SAM  S. 


" He  ought  not  to  be  far  off," said  Sam.     " These 

folk's  don't  usually  go  to  any  unnecessary  expense 

in  hiring  rooms.     Suppose  you  try  that  door,  sir." 

This  door  was  also  locked.     The  major  pounded 

on  it.    There  was  no  response. 

"Speak  to  him,  sir,"  Sam  advised.  "Let  him 
know  he's  among  friends." 

"Aleck!  Aleck,  my  boy!"  shouted  the  other. 
"It's  me — it's  yo'  uncle.  It's  all  right.  Come  out 
—the  whole  thing's  a  damned  plant.  Open  the 
do'." 

A  pause.  Then  the  door  slowly  opened,  and  the 
haggard  and  hollow-cheeked 
visage  of  Aleck  timidly  peered 
out.  It  was  only  upon  re 
newed  assurances  of  safety 
that  he  ventured  forth.  His 
knees  wavered  beneath  him, 
and  his  voice  was  a  tremulous 
whisper.  After  a  good  deal  of 
more  or  less  unintelligible 
question  and  answer  on  both 
sides,  his  version  of  the  terrors 
of  the  past  night  was  elicited. 
It  was  found  to  differ  in  some  important  particu- 


A    MODEL    MURDER.  119 

lars  from  that  prepared  for  the  honest  major's  con 
sumption  by  their  friend  Lord  Camoys. 

According  to  this  statement  it  would  appear 
that  Camoys  had,  indeed,  introduced  him  to  a 
lady  denominated  Mrs.  Cavendish,  and  it  was  not 
long  before  she  had  given  him  to  understand  that 
he  had  made  a  deep  impression  on  her  heart.  A 
bottle  of  champagne  had  helped  forward  the  prog 
ress  of  the  passion.  After  a  while,  Camoys  had 
discreetly  retired.  Ere  long,  however,  and  at  a 
critical  moment,  he  reappeared,  accompanied  by  a 
burly  and  very  wrathful  gentleman.  Mrs. 
Cavendish  had  shrieked  "My  husband,"  and  van 
ished.  The  man  of  wrath,  after  chasing  Aleck 
round  the  room  in  a  terrible  manner,  swore  that 
he  would  have  his  life,  and  went  off  in  search  of 
weapons,  bidding  Camoys  guard  him  till  his 
return.  The  latter,  howrever,  had  very  humanely 
assisted  Aleck  to  escape,  and  had  hurried  him  to 
his  rooms.  There  he  had  informed  him  that  his 
only  chance  of  life  lay  in  leaving  for  Europe  by  the 
next  steamer ;  it  would  be  still  better  to  make  it 
Patagonia  or  the  Samoan  Islands.  Mr. 
Cavendish,  he  had  added,  \vould  never  rest  until  he 
had  quaffed  Aleck's  heart  blood;  but  the  more 
remote  the  wilderness  into  which  the  victim  fled, 


120  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

the  longer,  of  course,  was  that  sanguinary  con 
summation  likely  to  be  delayed.  Did  he  need 
money?  Camoys  generously  offered  him  all  he 
had  in  his  pockets,  amounting  to  four  or  five  dol 
lars  ;  but  Aleck  had  pointed  out  that  he  had 
money  of  his  own,  or  which  at  all  events  was  to 
become  his  own,  should  he  be  fortunate  enough  to 
survive  a  few  months  longer.  He  had  then  indited 
the  note  which  Camoys  had  so  obligingly  carried 
to  the  major.  Camoys  had  left  him  with  the 
friendly  injunction  to  keep  himself  safe  locked  up 
till  his  return,  which  would  be,  he  said,  as  soon  as 
he  could  start  off  Cavendish  to  the  North  Pole,  or 
on  some  other  false  scent.  Camoys  had  not 
returned  yet,  and  Aleck  had  been  very  hungry, 
very  thirsty,  and  dreadfully  alarmed  during  some 
eighteen  lonely  hours. 

During  the  progress  and  development  of  this 
touching  tale  the  major's  countenance  was  a 
study.  After  passing  through  various  stages  of 
crimson,  it  ended  by  becoming  purple.  He  called 
out: 

"  Wha's  yo'  revolver,  sah?  " 

"In  my  pocket,  uncle,"  replied  the  youth,  feebly. 

"An'  d'  yo'  mean  to  tell  me,  sah,  that  yo'  ran 
away  from  that  fellow,  sah,  with  yo'  tail  between 


A    MODEL    MURDER.  121 

TO'  legs,  by  Gad,  instead  of  shootin'  him  full  o' 
holes,  like  a  man  an' a  Southron,  an' member  of  an 
old  an'  respected  Virginia  fam'ly,  sah  ?  I  blush  fo' 
yo',  by  Gad,  sah.  Mo'ovah,  yo've  been  swindled 
by  a  lot  of  o'na'y  blacklegs,  sah;  they've  got  off 
with  ten  thousand  dollahs  in  cash,  sah ;  and  'pon 
my  soul  an'  sacred  honah,  sah,  I'll  petition  the  leg 
islature  to  have  yo'  decla'ed  non  compos  mentis, 
sah;  an'  if  yo'  ever  get  out  of  the  asylum  fo'  imbe 
ciles,  yo'll  be  kept  fo'  the  rest  of  yo'  mis 'able  exist 
ence  on  twelve  dollahs  a  week,  sah." 

This  was  hardly  quite  just  on  the  major's  part, 
inasmuch  as  he  too  had  not  escaped  being  hood 
winked  by  the  too  seductive  Lord  Camoys.  But 
the  scolding  will  do  Mr.  Alexander  Cholmondely 
Phipps  no  harm.  He  puts  on  no  high  airs  now, 
and  his  speech  has  quite  lost  all  traces  of  the  cock 
ney  idiom.  He  trots  about  meekly  in  the  major's 
wake.  It  is  he  that  laughs  at  the  major's  jokes 
now,  with  a  sad  and  perfunctory  cackle. 

As  for  Lord  Camoys,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cavendish, 
and  that  ten  thousand  dollars  cash,  they  have  not 
yet  been  heard  from. 


THE  SYMPOSIUM. 

S  Christmas  drew  near,  I 
received  an  invitation 
from  my  old  friend  Six 
Cent  Sam  to  eat  a  Christ 
mas  dinner  at  his  estab 
lishment.  It  was  an 
enjoyment  not  to  be 
foregone,  and  I  ac 
cepted  with  alacrity 
and  thanks.  The  hour  was,  eight  P.  M.,  before 
which  time  the  modest  establishment  of  the 
man  of  mystery  had  been  closed  for  business.  On 
arriving,  I  found  about  a  dozen  other  guests,  -most 
of  whom  were  unknown  to  me.  Evening  dress 
was  not  worn.  Sam  received  me  with  his  usual 
undemonstrative  but  cordial  hospitality,  and, 
taking  my  arm,  led  the  way  into  the  dining  room. 
We  were  seated  at  a  round  table,  and,  so  far  as 
position  was  concerned,  were  therefore  all  on  a 
footing  of  equality ;  nevertheless,  now  as  at  all 
times,  Sam's  seat  was,  like  Rob  Roy  MacGregor's, 

125 


126  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

the  head  of  the  table.  The  dinner  was  a  great, 
good,  solid  feast,  such  as  one  seldom  gets  a  chance 
at  in  these  degenerate  times ;  we  had  roast-beef 
and  plum-pudding,  besides  innumerable  lesser  joys; 
plenty  of  sound  claret  and  Burgundy,  and,  at 
dessert,  some  of  my  friend  Lorenz  Reich's  far-famed 
Tokay.  By  the  time  the  last  course  was  removed, 
every  man  at  table  felt  as  if  he  was  in  the  enjoyment 
of  an  income  of  $100,000  a  year,  with  none  of  the 
anxiety  and  distress  which  such  an  encumbrance  is 
reputed  to  bring  with  it.  There  was  a  general 
sentiment  of  full-fledged  content,  and  each  man 
looked  at  his  brother  with  a  feeling  of  good  will 
and  mutual  congratulation.  Then  Sam  struck  on 
the  table  with  his  knife  handle,  and  rose  to  his 
feet  amid  a  general  murmur  of  applause. 

"My  good  friends,"  began  Sam,  "I  am  not 
going  to  make  you  a  speech,  nor  shall  I  call  upon 
anyone  else  to  do  so.  There's  nothing  formal 
about  this  dinner ;  all  we  want,  I  take  it,  is  to  meet 
one  another  and  have  a  good  time.  But,  after 
eating  one's  fill,  the  mind  naturally  turns  to  poetry 
and  romance.  Now,  I  have  reason  to  believe  that 
there  are  among  us  a  number  of  good  fellows  who 
have  had  experiences  worth  telling  about,  or  who 
have  at  least  heard  something  that  the  rest  of  us 


THK     SYMPOSIUM.  127 

would  be  glad  to  share  their  knowledge  of.  So  I 
mean  to  ask  them  to  tell  us  their  stories,  one  after 
the  other;  and  after  you  are  all  done,  and  the  time 
to  say  good-bye  comes,  I  will  tell  you  the  reason 
why  I  have  done  myself  the  pleasure  and  honor  to 
ask  you  to  meet  me  here  to-night.  Well,  then,  if 
we  are  all  ready,  I  will  ask  the  gentleman  sitting 
opposite  me  to  begin.  Tragedy  or  comedy — it's  all 
grist  that  comes  to  this  mill ;  and  if  it's  to  be 
tragedy,  I  guess  we  are  better  able  to  stand  it  now 
than  we  may  be  to-morrow  morning." 

When  the  applause  that  followed  these  remarks 
had  subsided,  the  personage  whom  Sam  had  desig 
nated  pushed  back  his  chair,  and  threw  his  napkin 
on  the  table.  He  was  a  grave  and  thoughtful 
looking  gentleman,  and  his  profession,  I  have 
grounds  for  thinking,  was  that  of  purveying  to 
publishers  the  material  out  of  wrhich  they  supplied 
themselves  with  city  mansions,  horses  and  car 
riages,  boxes  at  the  opera,  and  the  like  necessities 
of  existence.  He  twisted  his  short  beard  between 
his  fingers  for  a  few  moments,  and  then,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  an  oil  portrait  that  hung  over  the 
mantelpiece,  he  spoke  as  follows: 


128 


six  CENT  SAM'S. 


THE  AUTHOR'S  STORY. 

V-N  Fifth  avenue,  one  Sun- 
\\  day  afternoon,  a  year 
or  two  ago,  a  beautiful 
girl  passed  me.  That 
is  no  uncommon  thing; 
but  a  circumstance  drew 
my  attention  to  it.  She 
had  just  before  stopped 
to  speak  with  some  one 
and  a  smile  was  lingering 
on  her  face  as  she  went  by  me.  The  influence  of 
the  meeting  was  about  her  like  a  pleasant  per 
fume,  setting  her  momentarily  apart  from  her 
actual  surroundings ;  the  thought  of  him  was 
with  her  still,  imparting  a  tender  privacy  to  her — 
for  it  seemed  to  me  that  she  loved  him. 

I  thought,  "He's  a  lucky  fellow !"  and  wondered 
who  he  might  be.  He  was  in  the  crowd  ahead  of 
me — the  smiling,  well  dressed,  leisurely  crowd  that 
flows  to  and  fro  along  the  avenue  at  that  hour.  I 
had  only  to  quicken  my  pace  to  overtake  him  and 
determine  what  manner  of  man  he  was.  A  lucky 
fellow,  certainly.  For  she  was  indeed  a  beautiful 


THE  AUTHOR'S  STORY.  129 

girl.  Twenty  }'ears  in  this  climate  gives  the  per 
fection  of  maidenly  development ;  she  was  so 
sweetly  proportioned  that  her  figure  dwelt  like  a 
musical  harmony  in  the  memory.  Her  grace  in 
walking  gratified  the  eye  and  also  the  sense  of  sex  ; 
it  was  the  movement  of  a  woman,  with  the  lovely 
womanly  differences  from  all  that  is  masculine. 
She  was  not  a  mere  face  and  costume,  but  a  com 
plete  creature,  attractive  all  over.  Whether  she 
were  richly  or  simply  dressed  —  in  or  out  of  the 
fashion  —  I  had  not  noticed.  I  felt  the  human  love 
liness  of  form  and  limb,  as  one  remembers  the 
beauty  of  a  picture  or  a  statue.  That  is  a  rare 
impression  nowadays ;  and  I  thought  of  her  as  a 
foreigner  —  foreign,  at  least,  to  dry  conventions. 
She  was  at  all  points  alive,  with  the  repose  and 
simplicity  of  genuine  life. 

This  warm,  fragrant  quality  in  her,  distinguish 
ing  her  from  the  mass  of  handsome  women,  was  as 
virginal  as  it  was  feminine.  Old  Italian  artists 
have  painted  such  maidens,  rich  in  promise  of  pas 
sion,  but  untouched  as  the  dawn.  She  had  the 
auburn  hair  and  pearly  flesh  of  Titian,  and  the 
ardent  temperament,  which  yet,  until  it  was 
aroused,  might  be  colder  than  the  common.  I  did 
not  make  all  these  observations  at  the  moment. 


130 


SIX   CENT   SAM  S. 


Thinking  over  my  glimpse  of  her  afterward,  I  filled 

in  the  outlines  and  indica 
tions,  and  made  a  charac 
ter  that  may  or  may  not 
have  been  hers. 

Meantime  I  had  nearly 
overtaken  the  man  with 
whom  she  had  spoken, 
and  as  he  turned  his  face 
aside  I  recognized  him  as 
Linden  the  artist.  I  was 
only  half  pleased,  for, 
although  Linden  could 
tell  me  who  the  girl  was,  and  be  the 
means  of  my  seeing  her  again  if  I 
wished  to,  I  should  have  preferred 
to  let  the  whole  episode  remain  in 
the  region  of  memory  and  imag 
ination,  when  I  could  deal  with  it 
according  to  my  own  will.  Facts  are  apt  to  be 
clumsy,  especially  when  they  are  concerned  with 
beautiful  women.  In  this  prosaic  age,  beauty 
forfeits  a  charm  as  soon  as  it  becomes  identified 
with  a  name.  I  did  not  care  to  hear  that  this 
auburn  haired  girl  was  some  Miss  Manhattan, 
living  in  a  certain  house  on  the  Hill,  and  to  be 


THE  AUTHOR'S  STORY.  131 

dowered  on  her  marriage  with  such  and  such  a 
fortune.  I  wanted  to  think  of  her  as  some 
mediaeval  Italian  princess  who  had  appeared  to  me 
mystically  for  a  moment  and  would  never  be  seen 
again.  Linden  would  spoil  all  that,  though,  to  be 
sure,  there  was  no  need  of  my  saying  anything 
to  him  about  her.  He  would  not  be  likely  to  vol 
unteer  information. 

However,  I  joined  him,  and  we  asked  each  other 
where  we  had  been  all  this  while,  and  what 
we  had  been  doing.  It  was,  I  believe,  several 
months  since  we  had  met.  Linden  was  a  man  one 
does  not  run  across  at  hotels  or  clubs,  and  his  vis 
iting  list  \vas  small ;  his  studio,  on  the  other  hand, 
\vas  in  an  out  of  the  way  locality ;  so  it  was  eas}r 
to  keep  out  of  his  way.  He  \vas  a  man  of  force 
and  originality,  but  not  adaptable;  not  kindly 
disposed  to  the  fads  and  foibles  of  the  day,  and  not 
averse  from  expressing  his  aversion.  He  was  nat 
urally  not  popular,  among  his  fellow-artists  espe 
cially.  He  would  not  allow  that  there  was  merit  in 
any  work  but  the  best.  He  declared  that  an  artist 
who  painted  anything  but  masterpieces  \vas  a  dis 
grace  to  the  calling,  and  that  it  might  be  a  good 
thing  to  kill  him.  The  production  of  pot  boilers 
was,  to  his  thinking,  rank  dishonesty.  It  is  true 


132  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

that  he  held  himself  to  his  own  high  standard,  but 
then  he  would  accept  no  criticism  save  his  own, 
and  he  regarded  himself  as  equal  to  any  of  the  old 
masters. 

Now,  self-conceit  in  a  young  painter  is  not 
unheard  of;  the  strange  thing  in  Linden's  case 
was  that  his  pictures  were  really  good.  There 
was  something  in  them  to  be  found  in  the  work  of 
none  of  his  contemporaries.  They  were  original, 
and  each  painting  meant  something.  Sometimes 
this  meaning  \vould  be  conveyed  chiefly  by  the 
color,  sometimes  by  the  form,  sometimes  by  both 
alike.  There  was  deep  thought  in  them,  and  the 
manipulation  of  a  strong,  penetrating,  unique 
mind.  To  study  them  was  to  become  interested 
not  in  the  painting  only,  but  in  the  painter  too. 
You  might  not  always  like  them,  but  their  power 
and  beauty  were  not  to  be  denied.  I  can  fancy  a 
sensitive  person  of  a  certain  temperament  being 
painfully  agitated  by  them.  They  had  a  life;  they 
suggested  different  things  in  different  moods ;  they 
seemed  to  growr  and  change  from  day  to  day.  The 
subjects  treated  were  peculiar;  sometimes  land 
scape,  sometimes  figure.  They  were  dominated  by 
an  intense  idea,  which  gradually  shone  through 
the  composition  and  touched  you  more  than  the 


THE  AUTHOR'S  STORY.  133 

visible  symbol.  With  all  his  profound  insight,  and 
lofty  imagination,  it  always  appeared  to  me  that 
something  was  lacking  or  a  wry  in  Lin  den's  charac 
ter.  There  were  dark,  unholy  traits  in  him.  Like 
the  Persian  Omar,  he  joined  in  himself  heaven  and 
hell,  and  God  as  well  as  man.  Combined  with  an 
exquisite  delicacy,  therefore,  there  was  occasion 
ally  a  cruelty  and  impiety  in  his  productions  that 
made  one  recoil,  ns  if  a  serpent  had  hissed  from  the 
bosom  of  a  flower. 

His  pictures  are  little  known  to  the  public  because 
he  would  not  sell  them  (he  had  an  independent 
property  and  was  not  dependent  on  his  brush), 
and  was  even  averse  to  showing  them  to  people  he 
did  not  know  and  like.  His  studio  was  on  the  top 
floor  of  an  old  fashioned  house  on  the  west  side  of 
the  city,  belonging  to  himself.  He  was  unmarried 
—I  was  about  to  say  as  a  matter  of  course;  at  any 
rate,  I  had  never  thought  of 
him  as  likely  to  change  his 
bachelorhood.  He  was  able 
enough,  heaven  knows,  to 
win  a  woman  and  make  her 
happy,  but  he  looked  upon 
himself  mainly  as  an  agent  for 
the  vindication  and  expansion  of  art,  and  sank  the 


134  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

personal  question.  Had  he  thought  the  interests 
of  art  demanded  it,  he  would  have  married  a  new 
wife  every  day — or  with  the  same  passionate  per 
sistence,  have  remained  chaste  and  celibate  all  his 
lifelong.  As  it  was,  marriage  was  something  about 
which  he  did  not  trouble  himself,  save  to  interpret 
its  philosophic  meaning  in  terms  of  art. 

Well,  as  I  said,  we  walked  down  the  avenue 
together,  and  soon  Linden  had  got  on  some  topic 
that  interested  him — for  that  matter,  he  would 
never  talk  long  on  any  topic  that  did  not  interest 
him — and  in  order  to  make  things  easier  we  turned 
off  at  Thirty-Fourth  street  and  went  westward. 
The  noise  of  the  crowded  avenue  died  away  and  we 
were  in  comparative  solitude,  and  Linden's  deep, 
quick  voice  was  the  sound  now  clearly  audible. 

"There  is  a  moment  in  every  life  \vhen  it  touches 
its  most  expressive,  most  characteristic  point.  It 
should  stop  there.  It  is  a  wraste  and  a  crime  to 
live  longer." 

"How  are  you  to  know  when  you  get  to  it  ?  "  I 
inquired. 

"  Let  your  neighbors  decide." 

"How  many  people  would  be  left  alive  at  the 
end  of  a  vear?" 


THE   AUTHOR'S  STORY.  135 

"By  the  time  the  world  is  wise  enough  to  admit 
the  truth  of  my  principle  it  will  be  wise  enough  to 
act  upon  it  justly.  And  no  man  or  woman  who  is 
truly  sane  would  care  to  prolong  his  existence 
beyond  the  epoch  at  which  he  began  to  retro 
grade." 

"Suppose  you  were  in  love  \vith  a  woman — 
married  to  her,  say — and  you  found  one  morning 
that  she  was  a  shade  less  good  looking  than  the 
day  before,  would  you,  on  that  account,  cut  the 
throat  of  the  mother  of  your  children  and  the  com 
panion  of  your  life  ?  " 

"  The  manner  of  your  question  involves  a  logical 
contradiction,"  answered  Linden.  "You  are  put 
ting  her  mere  physical  beauty  against  her  mater 
nity  and  wifehood — her  body  against  her  soul.  No; 
but  if  I  saw  that  motherhood  had  ceased  to  be  a 
supreme  joy  to  her,  and  that  wifehood  had  begun 
to  lose  its  glory  and  sanctity,  I  should  think  it  time 
for  her  to  die,  whether  or  not  her  face  and  form 
were  as  beautiful  as  before." 

"Before  applying  your  principle,  as  you  call  it, 
to  other  people,  you  had  better  test  it  on  your 
self,"  I  remarked.  "In  other  cases  your  reforming 
zeal  would  be  interrupted  by  the  hangman,  but  if 
you  put  yourself  out  of  the  way  nothing  more 


136 


SIX    CENT   SAM  S. 


could  be  done  to  you  than  to  put  your  obituary  in 
the  newspapers.  But  it  seems  to  me  we  are  talking 
great  rubbish .  What , 
have  you  been 
painting  lately  ?",;()] 

"Come  in, 
and  I'll  show 
you." 

We 

approach 
whither 
been  in  ad 
accepted 


1  were,  in  fact, 
ing  his  house, 
our  steps  had 
vertently  leading  us.  I 
the  invitation  willingly.  I  was  in 
the  vein  to  look  at  his  pictures.  If  he  had  begun 
to  retrograde  I  might  offer  him  his  choice  of  wavs 
to  die.  I  presume  Linden  kept  a  servant,  though  I 
never  saw  one  in  his  house.  He  unlocked  the  door 
and  WTC  went  upstairs.  The  lower  part  of  the 
house  was  dark  and  silent.  But  the  opening  of  the 
door  of  the  studio  brought  us  to  a  glow  of  light 
and  color.  Linden  was  not  one  of  those  artists 
who  make  their  studios  merely  a  neutral  back 
ground  for  their  pictures.  The  room  itself  was  a 
picture — subtle  and  splendid.  It  was  designed  on 
a  scheme  of  color  that  I  will  not  attempt  to 
describe,  but  its  effect  was  to  bring  on  a  gradually 


THE  AUTHOR'S  STORY.  137 

increasing  glow  of  pleasurable  emotion.  Colors 
move  the  heart  like  music,  though  on  a  remoter 
plane.  Probably  they  are  visible  music,  with 
forms,  too,  of  their  own. 

There  \vere  long  drooping  draperies,  panels  of 
oriental  tiles,  rich  monotones  of  wall,  mirrors  here 
and  there,  and  singular  pieces  of  furniture.  The 
grouping  and  the  light  led  the  eye  to  the  upper 
end  of  the  room  w^here  stood  the  easel,  with  a  pic 
ture  in  the  frame  upon  it.  A  piece  of  black  gauzy 
cloth  covered  it  like  a  shroud,  or  like  the  mystery 
before  birth.  Linden  offered  me  tobacco  and 
whisky,  and  paced  about  the  room,  smoking  a 
pipe.  For  several  minutes  he  was  taciturn  and 
abstracted. 

"Are  you  awaiting  inspiration ?"  I  asked,  at 
length. 

"Inspiration  is  to  take  your  life  in  your  hand," 
said  he.  "It's  as  dangerous  as  standing  on  a  prec 
ipice  in  the  dark.  If  it's  complete,  you  know,  over 
you  go! " 

"I  don't  quite  catch  your  idea.  Isn't  inspira 
tion  what  we're  all  after?  " 

"A  long  way  after,"  said  Linden,  whose  efforts 
at  humor  were  as  lightsome  and  felicitous  as  the 
waltzing  of  elephants.  "I'm  talkingfrom  my  own 


138  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

standpoint.  A  full  inspiration  is  transfiguration 
—  man  becomes  God.  If  the  result  be  perfect  —  a 
perfect  work,  that  he  recognizes  as  such  —  it's  the 
end  of  him.  He  can  never  get  beyond  it;  he  can 
never  even  equal  it,  for  to  the  individual  only  one 
true  creation  is  possible.  In  other  words,  he  has 
passed  his  apogee,  and  the  end  is  come." 

"Oh,  I  see!  His  best  picture  is  his  death  war 
rant?" 

"It's  just  that." 

"Well,  have  you  painted  yours  yet  ?  " 

Instead  of  answering  me,  Linden  went  up  to- 
the  easel  and  pulled  off  the  veil.  Then,  without 
glancing  at  the  canvass,  he  took  his  seat  in  a  chair, 
with  his  back  toward  the  picture  and  his  face 
toward  me. 

"Why,  that's  the  very  girl !  "  was  my  first  excla 
mation. 

"What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  that?'* 
demanded  Linden,  slowly. 

I  had  been  surprised  into  the  statement  and  now 
regretted  having  made  it.  But  it  was  too  late  to 
recede.  "I  passed  her  half  an  hour  ago  on  the  ave 
nue.  Just  before  I  met  her  she  had  spoken  to  you. 
So  she  is  your  model  ?  She  is  \vorth  immortaliz 
ing,  and  I  don't  know  but  you've  done  it." 


THE  AUTHOR'S  STORY. 

"A  curious  chance !  "  he  muttered.  "That  comes 
of  gadding  about.  Yes,  she  is  the  basis  of  that 
picture ;  but  no  one  but  you  and  I  and  she  thinks 
it.  And  so  you  think  I've  done  it,  do  you?  Well, 
it  was  sure  to  come  sooner  or  later !  " 

"Who  is  she?"  I  asked. 

"She  is  the  picture.  That's  all  you  or  anybody 
else  is  ever  likely  to  know." 

The  picture  showed  a  girl,  all  but  a  woman, 
seated  in  a  broad  cushioned  chair  \vith  a  back 
ground  of  warm  obscurity.  She  leaned  on  her  left 
elbow;  the  finger  tips  of  the  other  hand  rested  lightly 
on  her  right  breast.  Her  air  was  profoundly 
abstracted ;  the  eyes  looked  on  yours  without  see 
ing  you.  Her  hair  fell  voluminously  behind  her 
shoulders.  The  upper  part  of  the  figure  was  nude ; 
across  her  knees  a  mantle  was  thrown.  A  touch 
more  would  have  made  the  picture  voluptuous  to 
the  point  of  sensuality.  But  the  power  of  the 
artist  was  shown  in  his  forbearance.  The  girl,  for 
all  the  sumptuousness  of  her  beauty,  was  maiden 
hood  incarnate.  All  life  was  in  her  potency,  but 
she  was  pure  of  all  experience.  Formed  though  she 
was  for  love  and  passion,  she  had  never  known 
their  approach.  She  was  a  stranger  to  that  for 


140  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

which  she  was  created.      She  knew  not  even  that 
she  was  beautiful. 

And  yet  what  thought  was  it,  in  the  depths  of 
her  shadowy  eyes,  that  withdrew  her  to  such 
remote  regions  of  meditation  ?  What  mystery  was 
she  trying  to  solve  ?  Was  she  aware  of  an  insuffi 
ciency  that  she  could  not  name  ?  Did  she  fancy  the 
defect  was  in  her  own  nature,  or  that  she  was  to 
find  its  remedy  elsewhere?  No  one  can  fathom  the 
mysteries  of  a  girl's  soul,  nor  can  she  herself  give 
them  expression.  To  touch  them  is  to  annihilate 
them.  We  may  recognize  their  presence  and  know 
their  absence,  but  what  thev  are  we  can  never 

J 

know.     What  is  love  before  love  begins  ? 

"You  have  painted  more  than  your  e\'es  saw,"  I 
remarked;  after  a  silence.  "No  girl  of  our  era  will 
be  like  that.  It's  an  ideal  —  what  might  be,  but  is 
not." 

"No;  she  is  just  that,"  Linden  replied.  "All  I 
have  done  is  to  choose  the  mood  and  the  woman. 
I  call  it  'The  Day  Before  Love.'  I  don't  say  such 
a  creature  is  common,  in  this  age  or  in  any  other; 
she  may  be  unique.  But  there  she  is,  safe  as  long 
as  the  canvass  holds  together."  He  turned  and 
looked  at  it  us  he  spoke.  His  face,  at  first  gloomy, 
gradually  lighted  up  with  a  rapt,  exalted  expres- 


THE  AUTHOR'S  STORY.  141 

sion.  "No  greater  picture  was  ever  painted,"  he 
said  in  an  undertone,  and  then,  more  audibly,  "It 
is  the  greatest! " 

"It  is  good,"  said  I.  "You  have  done  worse, 
and  you  may  do  better." 

"I  wish  your  criticism  was  worth  anything,"  he 
replied  quietly.  "The  time  may  come  when  you 
can  see  \vhat  is  now  hidden  from  you.  Taking  you 
at  your  own  highest  valuation,  I  can  only  say  yoti 
might  grow  up  to  this  picture.  You  can  never 
grow  beyond  it." 

"If  you  don't  die  of  perfection,  you'll  die  of  con 
ceit,  my  boy,"  I  said,  scornfully.  "Who  ever 
heard  of  such  a  fuss  over  a  portrait  of  one's  favor 
ite  model?  Where  did  you  find  her,  by  the  way? 
She's  an  exotic,  isn't  she?  " 

"Nobody  will  ever  know  who  she  is,  or  what. 
She  is  there,"  pointing  to  the  canvas,  "and 
nowhere  else.  For  that  she  was  born,  and  having 
been  the  means  of  producing  that,  through  me,  she 
disappears.  That's  all." 

This  absurd  posing,  as  I  regarded  it,  provoked 
me.  "I  think  you  exaggerate,"  I  said.  "It  was 
strongly  borne  in  on  me  on  the  avenue  just  now 
that  this  young  lady  was  in  love  with  you,  and 
from  the  ardor  with  which  you  have  evidently 


142  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

painted  her  portrait  I  should  not  be  surprised  to 
hear  that  you  were  in  love  with  her.  'The  Day 
Before  Love'  you  call  it.  I  call  it  'The  Day 
After.'" 

"If  you  wish  us  to  remain  friends  you'll  stop 
there!" 

"Don't  be  such  a  donkey,  Linden,  I  believe  you 
are  cracked.  The  first  symptom  of  paresis  is  inor 
dinate  self-conceit.  You  are  a  clever  painter,  but  I 
know  a  dozen  as  good  or  better.  You  over-esti 
mate  that  picture  because  you  are  gone  on  the  girl. 
I  dare  say  she's  a  good  girl,  but  she's  a  model 
after  all.  If  other  painters  haven't  had  her  before 
you,  they  will  hereafter.  You  live  so  much  to 
yourself  that  you've  lost  all  sense  of  proportion. 
She's  no  goddess  and  isn't  going  to  disappear. 
She's  too  good  looking  for  that.  I  only  hope  she 
may  get  comfortably  married  and  have  children  as 
pretty  as  she  is." 

"Your  hopes  may  go  for  what  they  are  worth," 
returned  Linden,  with  an  odd  smile.  "You  mean 
well,  perhaps,  but  I  did  wrong  to  bring  you  here. 
You  must  pardon-  my  saying  that  I  will  be  busy 
the  rest  of  the  day,  and  must  be  alone.  The  pic 
ture  requires  one  more  sitting,  you  see,  and  then 
all  will  be  finished." 


THE  AUTHOR'S  STORY.  143 

" All  right,"  said  I,  getting  up.  "When  I  see  you 
next  I  trust  you'll  be  in  a  more  reasonable  state  of 
mind." 

"It's  possible,"  said  he,  and  then  he  accom 
panied  me  down  to  the  street  door,  and  I  heard 
him  lock  it  after  me. 

Thinking  over  the  matter,  I  regretted  having 
lost  my  temper;  but  I  believed  that  it  would  do 
Linden  good  to  have  heard  some  plain  language. 
He  had,  seriously,  painted  a  wonderful  picture  —  a 
grand  \vork  of  art.  It  was  his  masterpiece,  no 
•doubt,  and  the  "model  was  worthy  of  the  renown 
it  \vould  reflect  upon  him.  But  he  was  behaving 
ridiculously,  nevertheless,  and  deserved  a  little 
snubbing. 

This  was  Sunday.  On  Monday  I  went  about  my 
affairs  and  Linden  and  his  picture  went  out  of  my 
mind.  On  Tuesday  the  papers  were  full  of  his 
name,  and,  after  reading  the  reports  with  groans 
of  grief  and  horror,  I  hurried  to  his  house  to  do 
whatever  I  could  do  in  the  circumstances. 

It  was  thought  at  first  to  have  been  a  case  of 
double  suicide,  but  this  I  never. believed.  Linden 
killed  himself,  but  he  killed  the  girl  first.  Whether 
he  had  given  her  warning  of  his  purpose  can  never 
be  certainly  known.  I  don't  believe  he  did,  for 


144  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

there  were  no  signs  of  a  struggle,  and  she  was  not 
a  woman  to  die  complacently.  She  was  found 
carefully  laid  out  on  a  divan  in  the  embrasure  of 
the  eastern  window.  But  she  had  been  murdered 
on  the  cushioned  seat  where  she  had  been  posing 
for  the  picture,  and  the  blow  had  been  struck  una 
wares  and  was  immediately  fatal.  It  was  with  a 
weapon  scarcely  thicker  than  a  knitting  needle, 
and  had  pierced  the  heart  obliquely,  leaving  on  the 
skin  beneath  the  left  breast  only  a  small  blue  mark, 
not  noticeable  at  a  first  glance.  The  dead  girl's 
face  was  quiet  and  happy  in  expression,  and  more 
beautiful,  if  possible,  than  in  life.  It  was  a  trans 
figured  face :  the  reflection  of  a  pure,  virgin  spirit. 
The  face  of  the  portrait  seemed  to  ponder  over  a 
mystery.  The  face  of  the  dead  was  that  of  clear 
vision.  It  looked  not  into  a  mystery,  but  out  of  a 
mystery  that  was  even  greater. 

Linden  had  not  slain  himself  in  the  same  manner. 
After  laying  out  the  girl  he  had  stood  in  front  of 


v^4' 


'^IfcS^ 
the  portrait  and  sent  a  bullet  through  the  center 


THE  AUTHOR'S  STORY.  145 

of  his  brain.  His  body  was  found  face  down  on 
the  floor,  the  revolver  in  his  hand. 

What  had  been  his  motive  for  committing  these 
crimes  ?  There  was  much  speculation  on  the  sub 
ject.  Some  said  it  was  jealousy ;  some  that  it  was 
insanity.  That  he  was  insane,  indeed,  I  have  no 
doubt ;  but  there  was  method  in  his  madness.  My 
talk  \vith  him  on  the  last  day  of  his  life  gave  me  a 
clue  possessed  by  no  one  else.  The  incarnation  of 
perfect  maidenhood  should  remain  immaculate. 
The  girl  —  whose  name  and  origin  were  never  dis 
covered —  had  reached  the  fulness  of  a  spiritual 
state,  and  he  had  resolved  she  should  never  go 
beyond  it.  She  should  die.  The  type  of  maidens 
fit  for  love,  but  innocent  of  love's  embrace.  She 
should  die,  but,  through  the  picture,  she  should  be 
immortal.  Death  consecrated  both  her  and  it. 

Linden  killed  himself  because  he  believed  that  his 
highest  work  had  been  done.  He  could  never  paint 
again  as  he  had  painted  then,  and  he  would  not 
live  to  be  tempted  to  fall  below  that  standard.  On 
his  own  theory,  he  was  already  dead  as  to  the 
power  that  gave  him  the  right  to  live.  But  there 
is  another  question  that  I  have  often  asked  myself, 
but  cannot  answer.  Did  Linden  love  the  girl  ?  Did 

she  love  —  or  was  she  ready  to  love  him  ?    If  so,  no 
10 


146  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

common  tragedy  was  consummated  on  the  dav 

O          *t  j 

the}-  died.     It   was  death  for  an  ideal,  and  some 
thing   more  —  an    act    of  self-abnegation    seldom 

paralleled. 

*      *      * 

The  story  being  ended,  "Well,"  remarked  a 
ruddy  faced,  full  bodied  individual,  with  a  bald 
head  and  a  white  neck-scarf,  in  which  was  stuck  a 
pin  of  antique  and  curious  workmanship,  "Well, 
if  the  gentleman's  friend  hadn't  killed  himself,  and 
if  I  had  been  on  the  jury  that  tried  him,  I  should 
have  been  inclined  to  vote  for  hanging  him;  such 
self-abnegation  as  is  hinted  at  is  too  high-strung  to 
be  encouraged  in  the  materialistic  age  we  live  in. 
Now,  it  may  be  owing  to  my  avocation, — I  am  a 
collector  of  curiosities  of  all  kinds — anything 
really  unique,  from  a  live  mastodon  to  a  lost  book 
of  Livy  is  my  game, — it  may  be,  1  say,  because  this 
pursuit  of  mine  brings  me  into  contact  with  my 
fellow  creatures  on  their  least  favorable  side ;  or  it 
may  be  a  general  fact,  I  won't  pretend  to  decide ; 
but  at  all  events,  I  have  not  found  that  self-abne 
gation  is  the  rule  among  mankind  in  the  nineteenth 
century.  My  experience  is,  that  we  all  want  the 
best  there  is  to  be  had  at  as  much  below  its  value 
as  it  can  be  had ;  and  the  other  fellows  want  to 


THE   SYMPOSIUM.  147 

charge  us  A  1  prices  for  Z  26  articles,  if  I  may  so 
express  myself.  My  creed  may  lack  novelty;  but 
on  the  score  of  average  experience  I'll  back  it 
against  the  next  man's.  As  an  instance  in  point,  I 
will — since  yarn-spinning  is  the  thing  to-night- 
recall  a  little  incident  that  came  to  my  knowledge 
not  long  ago,  and  all  I  would  like  to  premise 
about  it  is  that,  under  the  name  of  the  leading 
character  in  the  tale,  I  am  not  disguising  myself.  I 
am  too  wily  a  bird  to  be  caught  by  such  chaff; 
though  there's  no  denying  that  the  chaff  was  very 
good  of  its  kind." 

Hereupon,  at  a  nod  from  Sam,  the  round-bodied 
gentleman  pulled  down  his  waistcoat  and  launched 
into  the  exciting  narrative  given  below : 


148 


six  CENT  SAM'S. 


VIRTUOSO'S  STORY. 

HROGMORTON   RAGGETT 
was    a    lean,   gray    haired, 
high     featured    gentleman,, 
sixty-three  years  old.     He  had 
one  ambition  and  one  regret. 
The  ambition  beset  him  by  day 
and  night.    He  meditated  upon 
it  in  his  waking  hours.     In  his 
sleep  it  often  formed  the  tissue  of 
his   dreams.      These  dreams  uni 
formly  depicted  a  successful  issue 
to  his  desires ;  but,  as  a  matter  of 
fact   thev   had    never  been  real- 

J 

ized.  He  hated  to  wake  up  in 
the  morning,  because  he  knew 
he  would  awake  to  disappointment ;  and  he  hated 
to  fall  asleep  at  night,  because  he  knew  he  would 
become  the  victim  of  deceiving  visions.  Thus  he 
was  never  at  ease.  The  only  thing  to  be  done 
was  to  labor  diligently  to  find  evidence  for  his 
theory,  and  this  labor  had  gradually  become  the 
controlling  aim  of  his  existence.  Being  wealthy 
and  a  bachelor,  he  was  able  to  use  his  time  as  he 


THE  VIRTUOSO'S  STORY.  149 

pleased,  and  this  was  the  way  in  which  it  pleased 
him  to  use  it. 

As  for  the  theory,  or  the  ambition, — for  they 
.amounted  to  the  same  thing, — it  possessed  many 
theoretical  merits,  the  chief  one  lacking  being  that 
of  novelty.  Air.  Haggett  would  have  preferred 
that  it  should  possess  this  also ;  but  he  consoled 
himself  with  the  reflection  that,  if  he  could  only 
vindicate  it,  he  would  enjoy  two  triumphs :  first 
the  vindication ;  and  secondly,  that  he  would  have 
been  the  first  to  succeed  of  many  who  had  tried. 
His  name  would  be  rendered  immortal.  Only  there 
was  the  "if"! 

The  theory  was,  that  Bacon  was  the  author  of 
^Shakespeare."  Mr.  Haggett  had  familiarized 
himself  with  all  the  extant  controversial  literature 
on  the  subject,  beginning  with  Miss  Delia  Bacon's 
*  'The  Philosophy  of  Shakespeare's  Plays  Unfolded, ' ' 
and  coming  down  to  the  ingenious  analysis  of  a 
recent  American  student.  He  had,  besides,  copies 
of  the  various  original  editions  of  the  plays,  and  of 
every  work  that  bore  in  any  way  upon  either 
Shakespeare  or  Bacon.  He  had  secured  photo 
graphic  copies  of  Baconian  letters  and  manuscripts 
of  various  dates,  and  of  all  Shakespeare's  alleged 
signatures.  The  entire  history  of  the  Elizabethan. 


150  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

period  was  at  his  fingers'  ends.  He  had  even  got 
ten  so  far  as  to  determine  exactly  what  it  was  he 
was  looking  for  in  the  way  of  conclusive  evidence. 
More  than  once  he  had  imparted  this  to  one  of  his 
very  few  friends  and  confidants,  a  certain  vendor 
of  second-hand  books,  by  the  name  of  Philemon 
Inkpenny  &  Co. 

"It  stands  to  reason,  Philemon,"  he  would  say,, 
"that  negotiations  must  have  been  carried  on 
between  Lord  Verulam  and  Shakespeare  regarding 
this  matter.  As  a  rule,  no  doubt,  these  negotia 
tions  would  be  by  personal  interview.  But  occa 
sionally  they  must  have  been  conducted  by  corre 
spondence  ;  and  although,  as  a  measure  of  precau 
tion,  there  would  have  been  an  understanding  that 
this  correspondence  should  be  destroj^ed,  yet  the 
doctrine  of  chances  warrants  us  in  the  belief  that 
some  fragments  of  it  have  survived.  And  over  and 
above  that,  Philemon,  it  is  to  be  remembered  that 
a  man  of  Shakespeare's  low  and  tricky  character 
would  have  been  most  apt  to  preserve  some 
written  evidence  of  Bacon's  authorship,  to  be  pos 
sibly  used  against  him  for  purposes  of  extortion. 
I  am  convinced,  consequently,  that  some  such 
documentary  evidence  exists ;  and,  should  life  be 
spared  me,  I  will  find  it." 


THE  VIRTUOSO'S  STORY.  151 

"Bless  me,  Mr.  Haggett,"  Philemon  would 
reply,  cheerfully,  "you're  good  for  thirty  years 
yet!  And  you  look  to  me  a  man  to  carry  out 
what  you  undertake,  sir." 

"Well,  I  think  you  may  say  that  without  flattery, 
Philemon.  Besides,  my  good  friend, — though  I 
should  not  say  this  to  everyone,  you  understand, — 
but  it  is  sometimes  borne  in  on  me  that  I  am  under 
Providential  guidance  in  this  matter.  I  have  had 
dreams,  Philemon!  The  other  night,  now,  I  dreamt 
that  a  strange  old  man  visited  me  and  imparted 
information  of  consummate  value.  A  very  vivid 
dream,  that  was — more  like  a  vision.  I  should 
know  that  old  man's  face  again  at  once,  were  I  to 
meet  him." 

"Which  I  dare  say  you  will,  sir,"  responded 
Philemon,  as  he  finished  inserting  a  title  page  into 
a  first  edition  of  Reynolds'  "God's  Revenge  against 
the  Crying  and  Execrable  Sin  of  Murther,"  from 
which  it  had  been  missing.  "And  you  might,  as 
like  as  not,  find  what  you  want  hid  between  the 
leaves  of  just  some  such  old  volume  as  this,  sir." 

"Yes,  it  may  be  so,  Philemon,"  returned  Throg- 
morton  Haggett,  his  gaunt  cheeks  flushing  and  his 
small  gray  eyes  glinting.  "  But,  come  what  may, 
the  individual  who  affords  me  such  hints  or  assist- 


152 


SIX   CENT   SAM  S. 


aiice  as  shall  directly  result  in  my  discovering  the 
evidence  in  question  will  receive  a  pecuniary 
acknowledgment  in  the  form  of  my  check  for  ten 
thousand  dollars !  But  don't  mention  that,  Phile 
mon,"  added  Mr.  Haggett,  adjusting  his  specta 
cles  and  regarding  the  bookseller  with  some 
anxiety.  "I  should  be  overrun  with  cranks  and 
adventurers,  you  know." 

"To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  said  Philemon  Ink- 
penny.  "And  ten  thousand  dollars — that  is  a  sum  of 
money !  It  is  a  sum  of  money,  Mr.  Haggett !  " 

How  happened  it  that  Mr.  Haggett,  rich  though 
he  was,  should  have  been  moved  to  set 
apart  what   Philemon   rightly  termed 
"a.  sum  of  money"  to  such  a  purpose, 
especially   since  he  was  not  by  nature 
of  a  gushing  and  giving  dispo-   (,. 
sition  ?       The    phenomenon 
arose  from  the  regret  which 
we  referred  to  at  the  open 
ing  of  this  nar 
rative. 

Throgmorton^ 
Haggett    had 

merly been  young;  and,  while 
in  that  relativelv  defenseless  condition,  he  had  fal- 


THE  VIRTUOSO'S  STORY.  153 

len  in  love  with  Dorothy  Haselfoot.  The  vicissi 
tudes  of  that  passion  cannot  be  recounted  here. 
All  was  going  on  well,  and  Dorothy  was  look 
ing  forward  with  a  chastened  joy  to  becoming 
Mrs.  Haggett.  But  there  was  another  young  man 
-about  —  an  artist,  Gabriel  Hastings.  He  and 
Throgmorton  had  been  friends  since  their  school 
days.  He  conceived  a  purely  artistic  regard  for 
Dorothy,  who  was  a  comely  maiden ;  and,  at 
Throgmorton's  own  suggestion,  he  undertook  to 
paint  her  portrait.  While  the  portrait  w-as  in  prog 
ress,  however,  the  demon  of  jealousy  entered 
Throgmorton's  soul.  There  was  no  more  warrant 
for  it  than  existed  in  the  famous  case  of  Othello  vs. 
Othello,  Cassio  co-respondent.  It  resulted  in 
unpleasant  scenes,  however,  and  finally  in  the  rup 
ture  of  the  engagement.  Throgmorton,  who  had 
already  presented  his  intended  with  a  piece  of  real 
•estate  valued  at  ten  thousand  dollars,  gave  her  a 
very  broad  hint  that  circumstances  alter  cases. 
She,  in  pursuance  of  Ophelia's  theory  that  rich  gifts 
seem  poor  when  givers  prove  unkind,  promptly 
handed  him  back  the  title  deed.  A  year  later,  she 
and  Gabriel  were  married  —  a  union  of  mutual 
esteem,  and  perhaps  also,  on  Gabriel's  part,  of  a 
romantic  sense  of  honor.  Thev  had  a  daughter 


154  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

Edith,  but  no  other  stroke  of  good  fortune ;  and, 
having  been  poor  to  start  with,  they  rapidly 
became  more  so.  Gabriel  died.  His  widow,  at 
the  end  of  her  resources,  humbled  her  pride  for  the 
sake  of  her  daughter,  and  applied  to  her  former 
lover  for  help.  He  had,  meanwhile,  sold  the  piece 
of  real  estate  for  fifteen  thousand  dollars.  Never 
theless,  he  refused  Dorothy's  request,  in  a  letter  of 
which  few  high-minded  gentlemen  would  have 
wished  to  be  known  as  the  author.  Dorothy  died, 
and  Edith  disappeared.  As  years  went  by,  and 
Throgmorton  Haggett  grew  richer  and  richer  and 
more  and  more  lonely,  the  regret  above  mentioned 
began  to  haunt  him.  He  wished  he  had  not 
recalled  that  gift  often  thousand  dollars.  He  even 
advertised  for  Edith,  with  a  view  to  making  resti 
tution  ;  but  nothing  came  of  that.  The  ten  thou 
sand  dollars  lay  heavy  on  his  conscience.  At  last, 
to  ease  the  weight,  he  actually  deposited  that  sum 
in  the  bank,  with  a  view  to  disposing  of  it  accord 
ing  to  the  contingency  he  stated  to  Philemon  Ink- 
penny.  Of  course,  it  was  possible  that  the  contin 
gency  might  not  arise;  but  what  more  could  he 
do  ?  And  meanwhile  he  was  drawing  interest  on 
the  sum,  just  the  same. 


THE    VIRTUOSO  S    STORY. 


155 


One  morning,  while  Mr.  Haggett  was  in  his 
study,  critically  com  paring  a  paragraph  in  Bacon's 
"Advancement  of  Learning,"  concerning  the 
impropriety  of  putting  young  men  to  the  study  of 
moral  philosophy,  with  a  somewhat  parallel  pas 
sage  in  "Troilus  and  Cressida,"  Act  II,  scene  2,  a 
servant  knocked  at  the  door  and  informed  him 
that  there  was  an  elderly  party  who  wished  to 
know  if  he  might  see  him  on  a  matter  of  business. 
The  party  was  admitted. 
He  was  a  venerable  individual, 
about  seventy  years  of  age 
apparently,  decently  but 
i  poorly  clad,  and  carrying 
under  his  arm  a  bundle  tidily 
done  up  in  an  old  newspaper.  He  performed  a  cer 
emonious  obeisance,  and  spoke  as  follows : 

"Mr.  Haggett,  I  hope  the  object  of  my  intrusion 
may  excuse  my  intruding.  My  name  is  Christo 
pher  Crumblehorne.  I  have  been  a  student,  like 
yourself;  but  I  am  poor.  During  my  life,  I  have 
collected  a  good  many  books, —  old  books,  Mr. 
Haggett, —  including  some  rare  early  editions  of  the 
Elizabethan  poets.  I  am  informed  that  you  are 
interested  in  Shakespearian  researches.  I  have 
here" — he  had  been  undoing  his  bundle  as  he 


156  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

spoke,  and  now  produced  an  antique  and  worm- 
eaten  volume  bound  in  brown  leather — "a  copy  of 
plays  by  Christopher  Marlowe,  dated,  as  you  see, 
1611.  As  you  are  aware,  Marlowe  is  reputed  to 
have  collaborated  on  certain  of  the  plays  ascribed 
to  Shakespeare." 

All  this  while,  Haggett  had  been  staring  at  his 
visitor  as  if  he  were  a  phoenix,  a  spectre,  or  some 
other  improbable  phenomenon.  The  longer  he 
vStared,  the  more  amazed  and  bewildered  did  he 
appear.  Well,  it  is  certainly  not  often  that  one  has 
better  cause  to  be  surprised ;  for  this  old  gentleman 
presented  neither  more  nor  less  than  the  living 
counterpart  of  the  personage  whom  Mr.  Haggett 
had  beheld  in  his  dream,  as  related  to  Philemon 
Inkpenny !  Was  the  rest  of  the  vision,  then,  to  be 
confirmed?  He  took  the  book  with  a  trembling 
hand.  He  turned  over  the  leaves  mechanically, 
hardly  aware  of  what  he  was  doing.  The  volume 
was  not  in  very  good  condition.  Here  and  there, 
passages  were  interlined  in  faded  ink.  Its  original 
owner  had  evidently  read  it  thoroughly;  and  with 
critical  if  not  sympathetic  interest.  Still  it  was 
not  obvious  how  any  enlightenment  could  proceed 
from  it  as  to  the  true  authorship  of  Shakespeare's 
dramas.  Mr.  Haggett  overcame  his  agitation 


THE  VIRTUOSO'S  STORY.  157 

sufficiently  to  make  some  remark  to  this  effect  to 
Mr.  Christopher  Crumblehorne. 

"Possibly,"  the  latter  replied,  "but  have  you 
carefully  examined  the  title  page  ?  " 

Mr.  Haggett  turned  to  it.  At  first,  he  glanced 
at  it  carelessly.  After  a  moment,  he  started  and 
his  face  became  red.  He  stole  a  strange  look  at 
his  visitor.  He  snatched  off  his  spectacles,  rubbed 
them,  and  looked  again.  Anon,  he  laid  the  book 
on  the  table,  reached  for  a  huge  magnify  ing-glass, 
and  studied  the  page  intently.  Finally,  he  laid 
down  the  glass,  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  con 
templated  Mr.^Crumblehorne  several  moments  in 
silence. 

"May  I  ask,  sir,  how  you  obtained  this  vol 
ume?"  he  inquired,  at  length. 

"At  a  second-handbook-shop  in  London,  just  off 
the  Strand,  in  1856,"  replied  the  other,  com 
posedly.  "I  thought  it  might  interest  you." 

"A  signature  of  William  Shakespeare's !"  mut 
tered  Mr. Haggett.  "Why, it's  an  historical  event ! 
And  this  book  was  his !  But  it  can't  be !  Can  it 
be  genuine?" 

"I  have  gradually  arrived  at  that  conviction 
during  the  four-and-thirty  years  that  it  has  been 
in  my  possession,"  ans\vered  the  old  gentleman. 


158  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

"I  have  here,"  he  added,  "noted  down  some  of  the 
reasons  that  go  to  confirm  me  in  my  opinion.  A 
glance  at  them  will  put  you  in  possession  of  my 
train  of  argument.  Pray  take  your  own  time." 

He  handed  the  other  several  closely  written 
pages  of  blue  note-paper.  Mr.  Haggett  perused 
them  with  absorbed  attention.  After  ten  or  fifteen 
minutes,  he  raised  his  head  and  passed  a  hand  over 
his  forehead. 

"And  do  I  understand  that  you  wish  to  dispose 
of  this  book,  sir?"  he  said,  in  a  slightly  tremulous 
voice.  "What  value  do  you  put  upon  it  ?" 

"I  sell  it  reluctantly, "  replied  the  old  man, 
''because  I  am  old  and  need  money  to  support  life. 
My  price  for  it  is  one  hundred  dollars." 

Mr.  Haggett  concealed  his  emotions  by  a  violent 
effort.  He  had  expected  to  have  to  pay  at  least  a 
thousand.  After  a  pause,  he  faltered  out: 

"I  might  give  you  fifty." 

Mr.  Crumblehorne  rose.  "I  cannot  accept  it," 
he  said,  with  a  sigh.  "I  named  my  lowest  figure. 
If  you  cannot  afford  it,  I  must  try  elsewhere." 
And  he  put  forth  his  aged  hand  and  laid  it  upon 
the  book. 

"Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Haggett,  hastily,  "after 
all,  I  may  as  well  stretch  a  point.  It  is  an  extrav- 


THE  VIRTUOSO'S  STORY.  159 

-agance;  but,  to  a  brother  student  —  I  will  write 
you  a  check.  But  —  a  hundred  dollars!  Suppose 
we  say  seventy-five  ?  " 

The  old  man  shook  his  head.  "A  hundred  or 
nothing." 

Mr.  Haggett  wrote  the  check.  Mr.  Crumblehorne 
pocketed  it  in  a  serene,  methodical  manner,  bowed 
and  withdrew.  Mr.  Haggett  spent  the  rest  of  the 
day  hanging  over  his  treasure.  That  evening,  he 
received  a  letter  that  agitated  him  on  other 
grounds.  It  was  signed  Edith  Hastings — the  long 
lost  daughter  of  his  old  love.  It  recounted  the 
leading  facts  of  her  history  since  her  mother's  death. 
She  had,  it  appeared,  developed  a  fine  soprano 
voice,  and  had  found  a  patron  who  defrayed  the 
expense  of  training  it.  She  had  sung  with  success 
in  concert  in  England  and  on  the  Continent,  and 
was  now  in  America  with  a  snug  little  fortune. 
She  had  accidentally  learned  that  her  mother's  old 
friend — so  she  called  him — was  living  in  Philadel 
phia,  and  would  do  herself  the  pleasure  of  calling 
on  him.  She  appointed  the  next  day  for  her  visit. 

She  came,  saw,  and  conquered  Throgmorton 
Haggett.  And  well  she  might,  for  she  was  a  young 
woman  of  beauty,  talent,  and  vivacity.  More 
over,  she  soon  conceived  a  most  flattering  regard 


160  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

for  the  elderly  student,  and  showed  an  intelligent- 
interest  in  his  pursuits.  He  presently  insisted 
upon  her  and  her  maid's  taking  up  their  abode  in 
his  home.  Before  she  had  been  there  a  week  he  had 
intimated  to  her  that,  if  she  would  remain  per 
manently  his  guest  and  give  up  her  public  career, 
he  \vould  make  her  his  heiress.  She  did  not  give  an 
unconditional  assent  to  this  proposition,  for  it  was. 
easy  to  see  that  the  applause  of  audiences  had 
become  dear  to  her ;  but  neither  did  she  absolutely 
refuse.  Meanwhile,  she  staid  on.  She  entered 
into  all  Mr.  Raggett's  ways  of  life.  She  helped 
him  in  his  investigations.  She  encouraged  him  to 
persevere.  He  had  never  in  his  life  been  so  happy. 
His  conscience  was  at  ease.  His  hopes  were 
brightened.  He  began  to  feel  a  young  man  again. 
Nay,  he  even  began  to  ask  himself,  whether  a  well- 
preserved  and  wealthy  gentleman  of  sixty-three 
might  not  with  success  propose  a  matrimonial 
alliance  with  a  gifted  and  charming  young  lady  of 
five-and-twenty ! 

"Have  you  noticed,  m  on  ami"  she  said,  "that 
there  is  something  odd  about  the  binding  of  this 
book?" 

She  was  sitting  in  the  eas}T-chair  in  the  embra 
sure  of  the  study  window,  dressed  in  an  adorable 


THE  VIRTUOSO'S  STORY. 


161 


neglige.    Her  bare,   polished  arms  emerged  from 

the  half  sleeves ;  *d^l  her  white  throat  was  fully 
y^SsSr 

revealed,rs$)Cl£$£r  1$  with  the  delicate  necklace  of 

ed  coral  round  it,  the 
ift  of  her  devoted 
Throgmorton;  one 
knee  was  thrown  over 
other,  causing  the 
fled  hem  of  her 
coat  to  dis- 
a  tapering 
ankle  and 
foot  shod  in  a  high- 
French  slipper.  In  her 
fragrant  lap  was  the  old  volume  of  Marlowe's 
plays. 

The  scholar  rose  from  his  desk  and  came  over  to 
her,  glad  of  a  pretext  to  be  in  contact  with  her 
dainty  loveliness.  He  placed  a  chair  close  to  her 
own,  adjusted  his  spectacles,  and  bent  over  her. 
"And  what  is  there  odd  about  the  binding,  my 
dear?  "  he  said,  tenderly. 

"Why,  see:  this  paper  that  is  pasted  on  the 
inside  of  the  back  cover  is  cracked  all  along  the 
inside  edge.  And  look:  the  cover  seems  to  be 
double,  as  if  there  were  a  sort  of  pocket  in  it,  such 


162  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

as  one  sees  inside  the  lid  of  a  desk.  Give  me  your 
paper-knife — yes,  there  is  a  pocket;  and  I  do 
believe — " 

"Edith!"  broke  in  Throgmorton,  in  a  high, 
quavering  voice,  "let  me — give  me — what  is  this? 
My  stars !  has  it  come  at  last  ?  " 

With  hands  shaking  as  \vith  a  palsy,  he  tore  out 
the  paper  lining,  he  tore  open  the  pocket,  he  drew 
from  it  —  what?  A  faded,  stained,  fragile, 
embrowned  fold  of  letter  paper.  He  began  to 
unfold  it,  but  his  nerves  were  too  much  unstrung. 
"You — you —  '  he  said,  faintly,  holding  it  out  to 
Edith. 

She  opened  it  deftly  with  her  tapering  white 
fingers. 

"What  can  it  be,  I  wonder?  Such  a  queer  old 
handwriting !  I'm  not  sure  I  can  make  it  out.  Let 
me  see — it  begins:  'Gray's  Inn,  ye  MDC' — oh,  1611 — 
no,  that 'sin  another  line — 'ye  Fourth  Day  of  March, 
1611.  Goode  Master' — dear  me,  what  is  this? 
S-h-a — why,  I  do  believe  it  is — yes,  it  is — 
Shakspere !  'Goode  Master  Shakspere ' !  Oh,  is  n't 
this  interesting?  " 

She  looked  up  with  a  brilliant  smile.  Mr. 
Haggett  was  deadly  pale.  "It  has  come!"  he 
murmured,  with  dry  lips.  "My  dream  is  fulfilled; 


THE  VIRTUOSO'S  STORY.  163 

my  reputation  is  secure  forever !  Give  it  to  me;  I 
can  read  it  now.  Yes,  here  is  the  signature — 'Fr. 
Bacon.'  A  letter  to  William  Shakespeare  from 
Francis  Bacon !  Edith,  I  am  the  most  famous 
man  in  the  civilized  world  to-day.  Yes,  yes,  yes ! 
Listen  to  this : 

'"Gray's  Inn,  ye  Fourth  Day  of  March,  1611. 
"'GooDE  MASTER  SHAKSPERE: — My  health  hath  been  suche 
this  past  Spring,  as  that  I  did  nigh  despaire  of  compassing  ye 
Work,  the  whiche  is  herewith  incloased.  Briefly,  I  commend 
myself  to  your  Love,  and  that  you  shall  with  all  proper  dilli- 
gence  make  me  a  fair  coppy  thereof,  after  ye  same  maner  as 
alwaies  heretofore.  Concerning  ye  name  or  title  of  this 
present  Drama,  I  doe  find  myself  in  some  debate;  yet  methinks 
that  of  "  Othello"  will  serve  as  well  as  another,  albeit  "  Des- 
demona"  likewise  hath  a  faire  sounde.  Yet  will  I  declare  for 
ye  first.  So,  with  affection  for  your  past  services,  and  desiring 
you  toe  be  goodeto  alle  concealed  Poets,  I  continue  your  verie 
greatful,  '  FR.  BACON.'  " 

After  finishing  the  letter  Throgmorton  Haggett 
folded  it  gently  up  again  and  laid  it  reverently  on 
the  table.  "Edith,"  he  said,  solemnly,  "this  is  the 
culminating  moment  of  my  existence ;  it  is  a  turn 
ing  point  in  the  history  of  the  world.  After  three 
centuries,  the  truth  is  at  last  known,  and  through 
me !  To-morrow  all  the  world  will  ring  with  the 
discovery  which  is  yours  and  mine  alone  to-day. 
That  letter  is,  beyond  all  comparison,  the  most 


164  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

important — the  most  valuable — document  in  exis 
tence.  As  you  perhaps  know,  'Othello,'  accord 
ing  to  the  most  trustworthy  indications,  was 
written  about  1611.  Bacon  wrote  it ;  Shakespeare 
copied  it  'without  blotting  a  line, 'no  doubt,  as  the 
saying  was.  Edith,  my  dearest  Edith,  let  me  cele 
brate  this  triumph  by  kissing  your  lovely  hand ! ' ' 

Edith  accepted  the  caress  with  infinite  grace  and 
complaisance.  "But,  mon  cher,"  she  said,  "is  not 
this  the  book  that  you  bought  of  that  old  gentle 
man  with  the  curious  name?  " 

"  Christopher  Crumblehorne  ?  Yes,  that  is  so.  I 
paid  him  his  full  price  for  it — one  hundred  dol 
lars." 

"You  paid  him  for  the  book,  mon  cher,  but  not 
for  the  letter !  And  were  you  not  telling  me  only 
yesterday  that  you  had  set  aside  an  immense  sum 
of  money,  ten  thousand  dollars,  for  the  person  who 
should  bring  you  evidence  in  support  of  your 
theory  ?  Surely  this  Mr. — what  was  his  name  ? — 
has  done  this ;  and  you  are  bound  to  hand  him 
over  the  bequest.  Am  I  not  right  ?  " 

She  laid  her  soft  hand  on  his  and  looked  up  in  his 
face.  Mr.  Haggett's  features  had  begun  to  assume 
an  embarrassed  expression,  but,  under  the  influence 
of  those  glorious  eyes,  they  gradually  softened. 


THK    VIRTUOSO',S    STOKY.  165 

"Edith,"  he  cried  at  last,  "Edith,  I  will  do  it! 
But  on  one  condition:  one  condition,  dearest- 
dearest  of  women!" 

"And  what  is  that?  "  she  asked,  sweetly. 

"That  you  consent  to — remember,  Edith,  that  I 
am  not  only  rich  as  men  rate  riches,  but  henceforth 
the  equal  in  distinction  of  any  potentate  on  earth. 
Edith  let  this  hand  which  I  now  hold  be  mine  forever! 
Be  my  wife !  Believe  me,  that,  as  Mrs.  Throgmorton 
Haggett,  you  will  be  the  envy  and  the  glory  of 
your  sex,  in  renown,  as  you  already  are  in  fact! 
Edith,  I  might  once  have  been  your  father;  fate 
denied  me  that ;  it  is  for  you  to  compensate  that 
loss  by  permitting  me  to  become  your  husband !  " 

"Dear  Mr.  Haggett,"  she  replied,  looking  him 
frankly  in  the  face,  "I  feel  your  kindness  and  the 
great  honor  you  offer  me,  and  you  have  no  doubt 
observed  that  I  have  regarded  you  with  no  ordi 
nary  interest ;  and  yet  I  am  hardly  prepared  to 
settle  the  whole  future  course  of  my  life  at  a 
moment's  notice."  She  hesitated  and  looked  down. 

"  Do  not  refuse  me !  "  urged  he.  "I  will  make  any 
arrangements  you  \vish.  Half— two-thirds  of  my 
fortune  shall  be  yours  on  my  wedding  day !  " 

"It  is  not  your  fortune  that  moves  me,  mon  cher. 
But,"  she  added,  again  placing  her  hand  in  his,  "I 


166  six  CKXT  SAM'S. 

\vill  make  a  stipulation — call  it  a  "woman's  whim, 
or  say  that  I  wish  to  test  the  nobility  of  soul  that 
I  am  morally  convinced  is  yours.  Send  this  money 
to  old  Mr. — Mr. — you  know  whom  I  mean.  He  is 
old  and  poor;  it  will  enable  him  to  pass  the 
remainder  of  his  days  in  ease  and  comfort.  Sit 
down  now  and  write  the  check  for  him.  Enclose  it 
to  him  and  give  me  the  letter.  I  am  going  out  to 
take  my  morning  constitutional  with  my  maid.  I 
will  put  the  letter  in  the  registered  mail.  And 
when  I  come  back,  mon  cher, —  my  dear 
Throgmorton — it  will  be  to  fix  the  day  on  which 
we  can  be  happy  !  " 

There  is  little  left  to  tell,  but  that  little  is  not 
unimportant.  The  check  was  written.  It  cost  the 
writer  a  pang,  but  it  was  done.  Edith,  with  a 
smile  of  heavenly  promise,  put  it  in  her  reticule  and 
sallied  forth  wnth  her  maid.  She  was  due  to  return 
at  lunch.  She  did  not  arrive.  The  afternoon 
passed.  Dinner-time  came.  Mr.  Haggett  had 
passed  through  the  stages  of  anxiety,  alarm,  mis 
giving.  He  was  now  in  a  frenzy  of  panic.  The 
servant  brought  in  a  note.  From  her! 

He  tore  it  open.  It  is  not  often  that  a  man  has 
the  fate  to  read,  in  one  and  the  same  day,  a  letter 
from  Bacon  to  Shakespeare  and  such  an  epistle  as 


THE  VIRTUOSO'S  STORY.  167 

this  from  Edith  to  her  elderly  lover.     It  ran  as  fol 
lows  : 

" Mon  cher,  we  are  gone.  By  'we,'  1  mean  my  husband, 
im-self,  and  yotir  ten  thousand  dollars.  My  husband  is  the 
gentleman  known  to  you  as  Christopher  Crumblehorne.  That 
is  not  his  real  name ;  neither  is  he  so  old,  by  some  forty  years, 
as  he  appeared  to  be  during  your  interview  with  him.  He  is  an 
actor,  and  has  few  rivals  in  his  make-up  for  elderly  characters. 
As  for  me,  I  am  indeed  the  Edith  whose  mother  you  wronged 
and  left  to  starve.  I  have  supported  myself  by  my  own  tal 
ents,  and  I  have,  with  the  assistance  of  my  husband,  paid  off 
an  old  score  on  you.  This  money  I  hold  to 
be  rightfully  mine;  my  conscience  will  never 
reproach  me  with  the  manner  in  which  I 
chose  to  possess  myself  of  it.  You  offered 
me  half  your  fortune.  I  took  ten  thou 
sand  dollars.  We  are  quits.  As  to  the 
authorship  of  Shakespeare,  I  advise  you 
to  consult  an  expert  before  announcing 
3'our  discovery  to  the  •world.  When  I 
return,  I  will  be  yours.  Meanwhile, 
with  cordial  good  wishes,  I  subscribe 

"  Your  obliged 

It's  all  clear  enough,  except  as  to  that  dream  of 
Mr.  Raggett's,  and  that  has  remained  a  mystery 

to  this  day. 

*      *      * 

The  round-bodied  gentleman,  having  finished  his 
tale,  poured  out  a  glass  of  wine  and  drank  it,  with 
a  twinkle  in  his  eve.  Sam  said : 


168  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

"That's  a  very  entertaining  storv,  sir,  but  it 
strikes  me  that  it  disproves  the  very  theory  you 
meant  to  illustrate  by  it." 

"How  so,  sir?"  demanded  the  virtuoso,  throw 
ing  one  arm  over  the  back  of  his  chair. 

"Because,  if  it  had  been  so  commonplace  a  thing 
as  you  pretend  for  people  to  plot  to  get  the  better 
of  one  another,  }^our  story  would  have  appeared 
commonplace,  too ;  instead  of  which  we  all  found 
it  quite  novel  and  interesting." 

"Why,  sir,  I  never  heard  a  more  preposterous 
argument,"  exclaimed  the  virtuoso,  pulling  up  his 
collar. 

"You  have  had  your  say,  sir,"  interrupted  Sam, 
smiling  upon  him  with  a  peculiar  arch  expression ; 
<1and  unless  you  yield  to  the  chair,  I  shall  further 
illustrate  the  emptiness  of  your  theory  by  telling 
the  company  who  it  was  that  gave  the  order  to  fit 
out  all  the  newsboys  in  New  York  with  a  new  pair 
of  boots." 

At  this  the  round-bodied  gentleman  grew  crim 
son,  and,  in  his  confusion,  attempted  to  drink  out 
of  the  glass  that  he  had  just  emptied.  Meanwhile, 
Sam  turned  to  a  youngish  man  with  short  side 
whiskers,  who  looked  like  a  well-to-do  broker,  and 
was  in  fact,  I  believe,  an  electrical  engineer. 


THE   ELECTRICAL  ENGINEER'S   STORY. 


169 


"Suppose  you  give  us  that  incident  about  your 
friend  Norton,"  said  he. 

The  youngish  man  started,  and  seemed  embar 
rassed  ;  he  murmured  something  about  not  being 
accustomed  to  addressing  a  general  audience ;  but 
as  Sam  showed  no  symptoms  of  an  inclination  to 
let  him  off,  he  cleared  his  throat  nervously,  and 
began  in  these  words : 

THE    ELECTRICAL    ENGINEER'S    STORY. 

T  wavS  Norton  himself  who  told  me 
the  story.  Norton,  as  you  kno\v, 
is  a  physician  and  a  specialist  in 
nervous  and  mental  diseases. 
His  cast  of  mind  is  skeptical,  or 
at  least  severely  logical.  I  am 
sure  that  he  would  have  discred 
ited  ,the  thing  if  anybody  had 
told  it  to  him.  Indeed,  it  is  doubt 
ful  if  he  altogether  accepts  it  even  as  it  is.  He 
cannot  explain  it,  and  he  is  accustomed  to 
reject  whatever  he  cannot  explain.  Nevertheless, 
since  it  happened  to  himself  he  is  in  a  dilemma.  A 
man  in  a  normal  condition  of  health  and  mind  hes 
itates  to  disbelieve  thetestimonvof  his  own  senses. 


170  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

Hallucinations  are,  of  course,  the  result  of  sonic 
functional  derangement.  But  when  an  impossible 
things  happens,  what  are  YOU  to  do?  Mind,  I 
say  when  it  does  happen  in  your  own  experience. 
You  are  precluded  on  the  one  hand,  from  denying 
that  it  did  happen ;  while  on  the  other,  an  impos 
sibility  is  always  an  impossibility. 

Norton,  I  fancy,  habitually  avoids  thinking  of 
the  matter  at  all.  He  is  in  an  attitude  of  "sus 
pended  judgment."  If  some  discovery,  psycholog 
ical  or  physiological,  were  to  turn  up,  throwing 
light  upon  the  subject,  I  daresay  he  would  take  up 
the  Trafford  affair  with  scientific  enthusiasm,  and 
make  it  the  theme  of  a  learned  disquisition.  But 
meantime  he  lets  it  lie  as  something  there  is  no 
use  in  puzzling  over.  He  gave  the  narrative  to  me 
one  evening  in  the  freedom  of  an  intercourse  which 
began  when  we  were  boysiii  college  together,  more 
than  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago,  and  has  continued 
ever  since.  I  am  rather  fond  of  a  good  ghost 
story,  and  have  told  more  than  one  in  my  time, 
and  Norton  has  smiled  indulgently  at  them.  But 
nothing  that  I  ever  imagined  is  stranger  than  this 
which  he  experienced.  He  has  the  advantage  of 
me,  and  I  take  off  my  hat  to  him. 


THE   ELECTRICAL  ENGINEER'S   STORY.  171 

You  are  at  liberty  to  make  whatever  use  you 
like  of  the  hypnotic  theory.  Norton  was  one  of 
the  first  physicians  in  New  York  to  take  up  hyp 
notic  experiments  with  a  view  to  applying  the 
principle  in  his  practice.  He  is  a  first-rate  opera 
tor;  he  has  hypnotized  hundreds  of  persons.  He 
found  the  effects  good  in  several  kinds  of  affections, 
but  he  seldom  employs  the  treatment  now  for  the 
reason  (as  I  understand  it)  that  he  has  never  been 
able  to  satisfy  himself  just  how,  or  in  what  cases 
it  succeeds ;  and  whether  it  may  not  be  folio-wed 
by  remote  consequences  more  or  less  undesirable. 
But  at  the  time  of  the  Trafford  episode  he  was  still 
in  the  midst  of  his  researches,  and  she  herself  was 
frequently  hypnotized  by  him. 

I  do  not  know  precisely  what  her  disorder  was ; 
at  all  events,  it  confined  her  to  her  bed ;  and  Nor 
ton  had  little  expectation  of  curing  her.  She  could 
neither  -walk  nor  stand,  and  she  occasionally  suf 
fered  severe  pain.  She  was,  Norton  said,  a  very 
interesting  girl,  and  it  was  the  greatest  pity  in  the 
world  that  she  should  be  a  helpless  invalid.  Her 
mind  was  no  common  one.  She  had  not  had  much 
personal  experience  of  the  world,  for  she  had  been 
"out"  only  two  or  three  years  when  she  was 
taken  ill ;  but  during  her  illness  she  had  speculated 


172  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

deeply  and  boldly  about  life,  and  about  what  may 
follow  death. 

"She  had  the  most  logical  brain  I  ever  met  with 
in  one  of  her  sex,"  observed  Norton;  "and  I  am 
not  one  to  underrate  women,  either.  Some  of  the 
results  at  which  she  arrived  were  startling,  but  it 
was  hard  to  find  a  flaw  in  her  method  of  reasoning. 
One  of  her  ideas  was  that,  assuming  the  existence 
of  a  spirit  in  man,  there  is  no  a  priori  reason  why 
it  should  not  become  visible  outside  of  the  body,  or 
even  after  bodily  dissolution.  On  the  contrary,  it 
was  surprising  that  this  did  not  occur  constantly. 
The  spirit  is  the  mind ;  wrhy  should  not  the  mind 
disembodied  be  perceptible  to  the  mind  embodied  ? 
The  physical  eye  does  not  see — it  is  only  the  medium 
of  sight;  and  it  is  only  material  objects  that  are 
visible  through  that  medium.  But  why  may  not 
the  real  eye  act  without  the  intervention  of  this 
medium,  and  take  cognizance  of  things  on  its  own 
plane  of  being?  I  objected  that  there  might  be 
nothing  for  it  to  take  cognizance  of;  if  embodi 
ment  meant  anything,  it  meant  that  the  spirit  was 
not  'on  its  own  plane,'  and  could  not,  therefore, 
be  reached  by  the  'real  eye.'  She  replied  that 
hypnotism  indicated  that  the  mind  could  be  tem- 
.porarily  dissociated  from  the  body,  and  justified 


THE*  ELECTRICAL  ENGINEER'S  STORY.  173 

the  proposition  that  a  means  might  exist,  or  be 
discovered,  to  produce  this  dissociation  at  one's 
own  pleasure.  She  added  (\vhatisquitetrue)  that 
we  fail  to  see  a  great  many  things  because  we 
do  n't  look  for  them,  or  expect  them.  The  train 
ing  of  the  will  in  this  direction  might  have  results. 
She  said  one  thing  that  was  curious;  I  don't 
remember  having  heard  it  elsewhere.  She  said 
that  after  emerging  from  the  hypnotic  trance,  she 
had  no  knowledge  or  recollection  of  what  she  had 
done  or  said,  as  to  her  physical  manifestations, 
while  the  trance  lasted.  But  she  did  often  have  a 
recollection,  more  or  less  obscure,  of  having  under 
gone  experiences  altogether  outside  of  the  physical 
plane.  In  other  words,  the  life  that  animated  her 
body  during  the  trance  was  something  distinct  from 
the  metaphysical  ego;  the  latter  was  free,  and 
rambled  about,  so  to  speak,  on  its  own  hook.  She 
was  annoyed  that  she  could  recall  so  little  of  her 
ego's  excursions ;  she  accounted  for  it  on  the  hypoth 
esis  that,  in  the  normal  state,  only  the  physical 
memory  was  operative.  But  she  had  hopes  that 
by  practice,  or  will,  she  would  finally  be  able  to 
compel  the  ego  to  render  an  account  of  itself. 
There  was  something  uncanny  about  the  whole 
idea;  but  it  had  a  fascination." 


174  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

Norton  talked  about  the  fascination  of  her  ideas; 
but  I  think  she  exercised  over  him  a  warmer  fasci 
nation  than  belongs  to  the  intellect  alone.  In  fact 
he  admitted  that  she  was  a  beautiful  woman,  and 
their  relations,  necessarily  intimate,  were  enlarged 
and  beautified  by  mutual  confidence.  She  had 
everything  that  wealth  could  give ;  but  the  con 
viction  that  her  health  could  never  be  restored 
must  have  made  her  sensible  of  the  irony  of  fate. 
She  could  not  well  have  helped  feeling  a  more  than 
common  affection  for  Norton ;  as  her  physician,  he 
was  doing  for  her  all  that  science  could  do ;  but  he 
was  personally,  when  he  so  chose,  one  of  the  most 
winning  men  I  ever  knew.  He  had  profound  expe 
rience  of  the  worth,  humor,  insight  and  various 
charm  of  talk.  He  is  a  bachelor,  and,  being  now 
forty-five  years  old,  is  likely  to  remain  one.  But  if 
Sybil  Trafford  had  lived  I  am  disposed  to  believe 
that  he  would  have  been  a  married  man  and  hap 
pier  than  he  is  now^. 

Norton  had  a  strong  bent  toward  scientific 
investigation,  aside  from  the  direct  line  of  his  pro 
fession.  He  vStudied  electricity  deeply,  and  made 
many  improvements  in  the  electrical  transmission 
of  messages  and  sounds,  which  \vill  come  into  use 
when  certain  existing  patent-monopolies  have 


THE   ELECTRICAL  ENGINEER'S   STORY.  175 

expired.  But  the  most  attractive  to  the  imagina 
tion  of  his  ideas  was  that  of  freeing  diamonds  from 
discoloration — that  is  to  say,  transforming  inferior 
stones  into  gems  of  the  first  water.  He  believed 
that  the  discoloration  was  caused  by  the  presence 
of  iron  at  the  moment  of  crystallization,  and 
he  devised  a  process  by  which  this  tint  could  be 
expelled,  or  concentrated  in  one  corner  of  the 
stone,  which  could  then  be  filed  off.  But  this  pro 
cess  could  be  rendered  certain  and  practical  only 
by  a  long  and  careful  course  of  experimentation, 
involving  great  expense  and  consuming  an  indefi 
nitely  long  time.  He  was  unwilling  to  neglect  his 
profession  for  the  sake  of  even  so  promising  an 
enterprise  as  this.  Besides,  he  was  interested  in  the 
scientific  more  than  in  the  commercial  part  of  the 
matter;  he  had  no  need  of  money,  and  no  one  was 
dependent  on  him.  One  day,  however,  a  circum 
stance  caused  him  to  reconsider  the  question. 

Sybil  Trafford  had  been  made  the  confidant  of 
the  diamond  theory,  as,  I  suppose,  she  was  of  most 
of  his  affairs  ;  and  one  day,  during  his  visit  to  her, 
she  had  her  jewel-box  brought  in,  and  showed  him 
a  large  stone,  weighing,  in  its  rough  state,  some 
sixty  or  seventy  carats,  but  which  was  of  a  dark 
yellow  hue,  and  therefore  of  comparatively  slight 


176 


SIX   CENT   SAM  S. 


value.  In  other  respects  it  was  a  fine  crystal,  and 
its  shape  was  such  that  it  might  be  cut  as  a  bril 
liant  without  £Teat  loss  of  weight.  Had  it  been 
rst  water,  it  would  have  been 
small  fortune. 

"Do    you    think  you    could 
\\     p  u  r  i  f y     that  ?  "    she 
asked  him. 

I 


"I     suppose 
j?  might,"  he  said. 

"Do,  then,"  she 
returned,  handing  it 
to  him  ;  "and  when 
I  get  well  I  will 
wear  it  as  the  pendant  to  my  necklace."  She 
smiled  as  she  said  it ;  and  he  smiled,  too,  but 
sadly ;  for  they  both  knew  that  it  would  be  far- 
easier  to  put  light  into  the  diamond  than  to  put 
strength  and  life  into  her. 

"I    wish,"    he    remarked,    "that    you    were    a 
diamond." 

"What  \vould  you  do  with  me?  " 

"I  would  have  a  ring  made  and  set  you  in  it." 

"And  what  would  you  do  with  the  ring?  " 

"Wear  it  as  long  as  I  lived." 

"And  what  then?" 


THE   ELECTRICAL  ENGINEER'S  STORY.  177 

"Be  buried  with  it,  I  suppose." 

"I  think  it's  better  as  it  is,"  said  she,  smiling 
again.  "  Diamonds  have  no  souls.  After  you  were 
buried  —  ages  after  —  some  one  would  come  and 
pick  me  out  of  the  mold  and  appropriate  me.  But 
I  have  a  soul,  and  some  day  or  other  you  and  I 
will  meet,  and  there  will  be  no  talk  of  burying." 

Norton  took  the  diamond  home  with  him,  and  a 
few  days  after  he  subjected  it  to  his  process,  though 
•without  any  particular  expectation  of  a  successful 
result.  He  tried  first  one  proportion  and  then 
another,  and  tested  it  with  various  degrees  of  mag 
netic  force,  but  neglected  to  take  due  note  of  the 
steps  of  his  procedure. 

In  the  midst  of  his  work  he  was  called  away, 
and  left  the  stone  in  position.  It  was  not  until 
the  next  day  that  he  remembered  it.  On  going  to 
examine  it,  he  found  that  it  had  become  pure  white 
save  for  a  black  spot  at  one  end,  not  much  bigger 
than  the  head  of  a  pin.  The  correctness  of  his 
theory  was  established ;  but,  thanks  to  his  care 
lessness,  he  did  not  know  how  it  had  been  accom 
plished,  and  could  not,  therefore,  reproduce  the 
result.  This  was  annoying;  but  there,  neverthe 
less,  was  Sybil's  diamond  as  brilliant  and  faultless 
as  the  Kohinoor  itself.  He  ground  away  the 


178  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

black  spot,  and  carried  the  gem  back  to  his  patient 
the  same  afternoon. 

"I  have  cured  it,"  said  he,  "and  now  you  must 
get  well,  too." 

"  How  did  you  do  it  ?  "  she  asked,  after  admiring 
the  transformation. 

"I  don't  know.  Probably  that  is  the  only  suc 
cessful  attempt  I  shall  ever  make." 

"No,  you  ought  to  find  it  out,"  she  replied.  "If 
you  had  invented  a  way  of  making  diamonds  I 
should  not  wish  you  to  practice  it,  for  then  their 
preciousness  would  be  destroyed.  But  it  seems 
only  right  that  sick  diamonds  should  be  made  well; 
it  is  more  in  the  way  of  your  profession,  too !  " 

It  so  happened  that  a  week  or  two  later  Norton 
was  consulted  by  a  man  by  the  name  of  Scara- 
manga,  who  was  suffering  from  insomnia.  He 
was  a  Hollander,  of  Spanish  or  Portuguese 
descent,  and  an  odd  sort  of  personage.  His  height 
was  extraordinary,  owing  to  the  disproportion 
ate  length  of  his  legs,  but  he  was  narrow  shouldered 
and  reedy  of  figure,  and  his  head  was  small  enough 
for  a  boy  of  ten.  It  was  adorned,  however,  with 
an  abundant  thatch  of  coal-back  hair;  his  eye 
brows  \vere  bushy,  his  nose  prominent,  and  his 


THE   ELECTRICAL  ENGINEER'S   STORY. 


179 


mustache  and  goatee  \vere  as  fierce  as  those  of  Don 
Quixote  himself. 

Mr.  Scaramaiiga  was  a  voluble  talker,  and  it 
presently  transpired  that  he  was  learned  on  the 
subject  of  precious  stones, 
and  had  turned  his  knowl 
edge  to  commercial  advan 
tage.  He  was,  in  fact,  by 
his  own  account,  agent  for 
a  large  firm  of  jewelers  in 
Antwerp.  He  talked  in  a 
large  and  grandiloquent 
vein,  and  entertained  Nor 
ton  not  a  little,  for  the 
latter  was  fond  of  a  highly 
flavored  character,  and  had 
a  good  sense  of  humor. 
But  at  length  Scaramanga 
chanced  to  say  that  he  had 
an  invention  for  improving 
the  water  of  off  color  stones 
and  then  Norton  became 
curious.  He  asked  him  how 
he  did  it.  Scaramaiiga  re 
plied  by  shaking  his  head 
and  laying  his  long  forefinger  craftily  beside  his  nose. 


180  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

"It  is  worth  a  million  dollars  a  year  to  know 
that,"  quoth  he.  "Do  you  wish  to  buy  the  secret 
of  me  ?  Well,  for  ten  millions  I  sell  him !  " 

"Fiddlestick!  "  exclaimed  Norton,  with  a  laugh. 
"If  you  have  really  discovered  the  process,  of 
course  you've  patented  it,  and  so  might  disclose  it 
without  fear.  But  I  don't  believe  you  know  any 
thing  about  it.  There  is  only  oneway  of  doing  the 
thing,  and  I  have  reason  to  think  that  no  one  but 
myself  knows  what  that  is." 

"You!"  exclaimed  the  other,  changing  counte 
nance.  "Pardon  me,  sir,  but  how  shall  a  doctor 
know  anything  about  diamonds?  " 

"Doctors  know  everything  in  this  country.  It 
is  not  mam^  days  since  I  turned  a  sixty-carat 
brown  stone  as  white  as  a  water-drop  in  the  sun 
shine." 

This  led  to  a  conversation,  whereby  two  things 
were  elicited ;  first,  that  Scaramanga  really  had  no 
knowledge  of  the  secret  of  which  he  had  boasted ; 
and,  secondly,  that  he  wasconsumedly  anxious  to 
learn  what  Norton's  process  was.  But  on  that 
point  Norton  declined  to  be  communicative. 
Finally  Scaramanga  made  a  business  proposition. 
If  Norton  would  agree  to  perfect  his  method  of 
treatment,  and  take  out  a  patent  for  it, 


THE   ELECTRICAL  ENGINEER'S   STORY.  181 

Scaramanga  would  bring  a  certain  capitalist  and 
friend  of  his,  Wimbush  byname,  who  "would  put  up 
any  required  amount  of  money.  The  three  would 
form  themselves  into  a  company  for  the  purifica 
tion  of  gems,  Wimbush  and  Scaramanga  paying 
all  the  expenses  and  doing  all  the  work  ;  while  all 
that  would  be  required  of  Norton  would  be  to 
accept  fifty-one  per  cent  of  the  stock,  and  to  draw 
his  receipts  therefrom. 

This  seemed  a  fair  enough  offer,  and  Norton  con 
sented  to  take  it  under  consideration.  He  was  in 
no  need  of  money ;  his  practice  brought  him  in  a 
large  income ;  but  he  knew  of  many  ways  in  which 
he  could  apply  a  great  fortune  to  schemes  of  value 
and  interest  to  medicine.  Scaramanga  brought 
Wimbush  and  introduced  him  ;  abroad,  fat,  watch 
ful,  taciturn  man,  who  seemed  to  do  a  great  deal 
of  thinking,  and  who  was  anything  but  demon 
strative.  The  matter  was  discussed  in  numerous 
interviews,  and  at  last  a  basis  of  action  was 
agreed  upon.  Norton  was  to  meet  Wimbush  and 
Scaramanga  in  Washington  on  a  certain  date. 
There,  and  in  their  presence,  he  was  to  explain 
and  illustrate  his  method.  If  it  turned  out  to  be 
what  he  claimed,  he  was  to  receive  one  hundred 


182  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

thousand  dollars  down,  and  the  company  would 
be  immediately  formed  and  proceed  to  business. 

On  the  morning  of  the  day  of  his  departure 
Norton  went  to  see  Sybil  Tr afford.  He  had  already 
mentioned  to  her  his  two  prospective  partners, 
and  he  now  gave  her  a  narrative  in  detail  of  what 
had  been  done,  and  of  what  it  was  proposed  to  do. 

She  listened  to  it  all  with  her  eyes  fixed  steadily 
and  thoughtfully  upon  his  face. 

"Do  you  trust  these  men?  "  she  asked,  when  he 
had  finished. 

"I  have  no  high  opinion  of  them,  certainly,"  he 
answered,  smiling.  "They  are  not  people  I  should 
care  to  pass  my  life  with.  But  the  arrangements 
suggested  leave  them  no  opening  to  swindle  me. 
I  have  the  control  of  the  stock  and  the  business, 
and  can  vote  them  out  if  I  choose ;  I  think  I've 
been  rather  shrewd  with  them." 

"They  don't  seem  to  me  good  men,"  said  Sybil; 
"and  I  doubt  if  good  can  come  from  associating 
with  people  who  are  not  good.  I  wish  I  could  see 
them  ;  then  I  could  tell." 

"Well,  I'm  afraid  we  can't  manage  that," 
returned  Norton. 

"At  what  hour  do  you  start?"  asked  she. 

"Eleven-thirty,  I  believe  —  the  night  express." 


THE   ELECTRICAL  ENGINEER'S   STORY.  183 

"And  when  shall  you  return  ?" 

"Oh,  in  three  or  four  days;  it  will  depend  some 
what  on  circumstances." 

"I  feel  as  if  there  were  going  to  be  a  change," 
said  Sybil,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  What  sort  of  a  change  ?  In  you,  or  in  me,  or  in 
things  in  general  ?  " 

"I  can't  tell;  only  —  a  change.  After  all,  you 
know,  people  are  not  immortal.  I'm  sure,  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  you,  I  should  have  undergone  a 
change  long  since." 

"Come,  you  mustn't  talk  like  that,  you  know," 
said  Norton,  looking  at  her  more  searchingly. 
"Have  you  been  having  more  pain?  Any  new 
symptoms?  " 

"No  pain  at  all;  on  the  contrary,  I  ieel  well  —  as 
if  I  had  no  body.  I  feel  able  to  do  anything; 
though  I  know  that  I  can  only  lie  here.  I  am  all 
thought  and  will." 

"Well,  thought  and  will  cover  a  good  deal.  You 
must  use  your  will  to  make  yourself  well,  and 
your  thoughts  —  to  think  of  me  sometimes." 

"The  last  thing  I  shall  think  of  will  be  you!" 
returned  she,  smiling;  "and  you  can  take  that 
either  way  you  choose.  Goodby,  now ;  we  shall 
meet  again." 


184  six  CI:\T  SAM'S. 

"Indeed  we  shall!  "said  Norton;  and  so  they 
parted. 

No  sooner  had  he  left  her  than  Norton  came  to  a 
determination,  namely,  that  at  their  next  meet 
ing  he  would  ask  her  to  be  his  wife.  He  won 
dered  why  he  had  not  done  it  before.  Had  he  not 
loved  her  for  a  long  while  past?  Undoubtedly  he 
had ;  and  yet  he  had  never  said  as  much,  even  to 
himself,  until  now.  The  conviction  must  have 
been  present  in  his  heart  long  ago ;  but  for  some 
reason  it  had  only  just  emerged  into  full  conscious 
ness.  He  loved  her,  and  would  ask  her  to  marry 
him.  He  was  convinced  that  she  loved  him.  He 
could  not  have  specified  any  act  or  \vord  of  hers 
to  substantiate  this  belief,  but  he  had  it  neverthe 
less.  It  was  new  to  him,  and  yet  somehow  famil 
iar.  It  was  as  if  some  power  or  influence  had  all 
at  once  been  applied  to  his  soul,  raising  a  curtain 
there  which  revealed  a  state  ol  feeling  long  exist 
ing  but  only  now  recognized.  Such  sudden  and 
unexplained  awakeryngs  come  to  all  of  us;  and  we 
know  as  little  as  Norton  did  wherefore. 

Though  his  resolve  was,  from  a  practical  and 
rational  standpoint,  anything  but  defensible,  inas 
much  as  it  was  almost  a  physiological  certainty 
that  Sybil  could  not  live  long,  and  would  never  leave 


THE  ELECTRICAL  ENGINEER'S   STORY.  185 

her  bed,  still  it  brought  Norton  singular  peace  and 
happiness  of  mind.  His  eyes  brightened  and  his 
step  became  elastic.  He  felt  like  a  bridegroom 
going  to  his  wedding.  His  thoughts  dwelt  entirely 
on  Sybil,  and  she  appeared,  not  as  the  invalid  he 
had  always  known,  but  as  the  lovely  and  ani 
mated  girl  she  had  been  before  they  met.  This  was 
an  odd  freak  of  fancy,  but  its  oddness  did  not 
strike  Norton  at  the  time.  On  the  contrary,  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  had  never  before  been  so 
reasonably  and  soundly  himself  as  he  was  nowr. 

Considering  that  he  was  about  to  start  on  a 
journey  the  results  of  which  were  likely  to  have  an 
important  bearing  on  his  whole  future  career,  he 
might  have  been  expected  to  think  a  good  deal 
about  the  probable  outcome  and  conduct  thereof; 
yet  this  matter,  as  far  as  he  could  afterward  recol 
lect,  never  invaded  his  mind  at  all ;  he  neither 
could  nor  desired  to  detach  his  meditations  from 
Sybil.  In  those  meditations  he  passed  the 
afternoon ;  he  was  absurdly  happy.  After  dinner, 
as  his  train  did  not  start  till  toward  midnight, 
he  walked  out  for  a  stroll.  He  turned  up  Broad 
way  and  walked  on  until  he  reached  Thirty-ninth 
street.  As  his  eyes  rested  upon  the  big  yellow  mass 
of  the  Metropolitan  opera  house,  he  all  atoncedis- 


186  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

covered  that  he  wished  to  go  in  there  and  listen  to 
the  performance. 

He  had  not  been  to  the  opera  for  at  least  a 
dozen  years ;  but  this  desire  did  not  seem  at  all 
strange  to  him,  nor  did  it  admit  of  an  instant's 
doubt  or  hesitation.  He  bought  a  ticket  at  the 
box  office  and  \vent  in.  The  opera  was  "Lucia  di 
Lammermoor, "  with  Patti  in  the  title-role.  The 
first  act  was  nearly  over  as  Norton  took  his  seat 
in  the  parquet  on  the  right.  The  house  was  over 
flowing  with  a  fashionable  audience.  Glancing 
around  the  array  of  boxes,  Norton  saw  that  only 
one  was  unoccupied  ;  it  was  on  the  first  tier,  two 
or  three  removes  from  the  stage. 

The  act  ended,  and  a  buzz  of  conversation  arose 
over  the  great  assemblage,  a  fluttering  of  fans,  a 
rustle  of  programs,  a  leveling  of  opera-glasses  and 
lorgnettes.  Norton  sat  quietly  in  a  state  of  sen 
sation  calmly  delightful.  All  was  well  with  him  ; 
he  had  110  anxieties,  no  doubts,  no  troubles  on  his 
horizon.  Some  great,  unformulated  happiness 
seemed  near  him  or  around  him.  He  did  not 
attempt  to  analyze  or  explain  it,  but  gave  himself 
up  passive!}'  to  its  enjoyment. 

As  the  curtain  rose  on  the  second  act  Norton's 
eves  happened  to  be  fixed  on  the  curtains  at  the 


THE   ELECTRICAL  KNGINEER'.S   STORY. 


187 


back  of  the  vacant  box  near  the  stage ;  and  he  saw 
a  \vhite  hand  with  rings  sparkling  on  the  fingers 
grasp  the  border  of  the  curtain  and  draw  it  aside. 
A  young  woman  emerged,  and,  advancing  to  the 
front  of  the  box,  seated  herself  in  one  of  the  chairs. 
She  was  in  full  evening  costume,  the  general  effect 
of  which  was  white.  Her  hair,  which  was  very 
dark,  was  coiled  on  the  top  of  her  head,  revealing 
the  beautiful  lines  on  the  nape  of  her  neck.  From 
the  base  of  her  white  and  full  throat  the  shoulders 
sloped  with  a  slightly  convex  curve  to  the  edging 
of  her  corsage ;  her  features  were  noble  and  lovely ; 


her  brilliant 
complex 
of  phys 

T>  1 

Round 

fastened 

monds 


eyes  and  delicately  tinted 
ion  showed  the  perfection 
ical  health  and  vigor, 
her  neck  was 
a  circlet  of  dia- 
w  i  t  h  a  single 
immense  dia 
mond  as  a  pend 
ant.  This  splen 
did  stone  blazed 
and  sparkled  like 
a  star,  and 
seemed  to  shed  a 


radiance  rather  than  to  reflect  it. 


188  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

After  settling  herself  in  her  chair,  this  beautiful 
woman  took  up  a  small  operaglass  and  began  to 
glance  over  the  house.  Presently  she  directed  the 
instrument  straight  at  Norton.  She  immediately 
lowered  it,  and  bent  forward  toward  him  with  a 
bow  and  a  smile.  She  had  recognized  him ;  a 
moment  later  with  a  gesture  almost  imperceptible 
she  beckoned  him  to  come  to  her. 

Norton  rose  on  the  instant.  Patti  was  in  the 
midst  of  an  aria,  and  the  audience,  entranced  to 
hear,  turned  resentfully  on  Norton  as  he  left  his 
seat  and  walked  up  the  aisle.  Little  cared  he  for 
that.  He  gained  the  lobby,  mounted  the  steps- 
and  hastened  along  the  corridor  to  the  door  of  the 
box.  There  he  paused  a  moment.  "  It  is  not  pos 
sible!"  he  murmured  to  himself.  "I  must  have 
been  mistaken.  It  cannot  be  she!  " 

Nevertheless,  he  opened  the  door,  and  found  him 
self  in  the  ante-chamber.  As  he  stood  there, 
undecided  whether  to  go  on  or  to  retreat,  the 
curtains  parted,  and  he  saw  the  outlines  of  her 
figure  dark  against  the  bright  background  beyond. 
He  stepped  forward  with  an  exclamation  of  joy, 
and  grasped  in  his  own  the  soft  white  hands  that 
.she  held  out  to  him. 

' ' Sybil !  "  he  excl aimed  ;     "is  this  really  you  ?  ' ' 


THE  ELECTRICAL  ENGINEER'S  STORY.  189 

"  It  is  really  I,  Paul ;     who  else  should  it  be  ?  " 

"But  when  I  left  you  this  morning,  you  were  — 

"This  morning  is  not  to-night.  I  am  an  invalid 
no  longer.  Don't  I  look  well ?  I  came  here  to  see 
you.  Do  you  know  why  ?  " 

He  looked  in  her  eyes,  and  saw  there  all  that  his 
heart  wanted  to  see.  He  could  not  repress  the 
words  that  rose  to  his  lips. 

"Sybil,  do  you  love  me?" 

"With  all  my  soul!  with  all  my  soul!"  she 
answered.  He  drew  her  inward  through  the  cur 
tains,  and  held  her  in  his  arms. 

They  sat  down  and  talked  together.  What  they 
said  \vas  sacred.  The  words  that  lovers  say  are 
unimportant,  but  they  convey  meanings  that 
transcend  all  language.  They  were  in  heaven.  All 
glorious  and  lovely  influences  were  about  them, 
and  time  stood  still. 

"How  do   vou  like    mv   diamond,  Paul  —  vour 

^  -  */ 

diamond?" 

"Is  that  the  one  I  doctored ?  It  seems  too  splen 
did!" 

"What  you  did  for  the  diamond  is  only  the  sym 
bol  of  what  you  have  done  for  me.  They  are  mir 
acles —  never  to  be  repeated !  " 

"Never,  my  darling! " 


190  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

"Take  me  home,  now.  I  will  not  say  good-by 
to  von  here.  Then  we  must  part  for  a  little  while 
—  but  not  forever,  remember !  Come  !  " 

He  wrapped  her  cloak  round  her  shoulders,  she 
put  her  arm  in  his,  and  they  passed  out  to  a  car 
riage  that  was  awaiting  them.  When  they  reached 
her  house,  she  bade  him  enter.  He  followed  her  as 
she  went  rustling  up  the  stairs,  leaving  behind 
her  an  exquisite  perfume  as  of  celestial  flowers.  At 
the  door  of  her  room  she  turned  and  smiled  at 
him. 

A  sudden  misgiving  seized  him.  He  stepped 
hastily  after  her  across  the  threshold.  There,  on 
the  bed,  lay  the  form  of  Sybil  Trafford,  white  and 
lifeless ;  beside  her  stood  the  members  of  the  fam- 
iry,  their  faces  wet  with  tears.  But  as  Norton 
advanced  to  the  bedside,  Sybil  opened  her  eyes. 
For  a  moment,  through  the  shadow  of  death, 
there  gleamed  the  smile  and  the  beauty  of  the 
spirit  he  had  communed  with.  She  raised  her 
hand,  and  laid  her  finger  on  the  great  diamond 
that  sparkled  on  her  bosom.  Norton  stooped  and 
kissed  her  lips.  When  he  raised  his  head  she  was 
gone.  But  he  knew  that  she  had  been  aware  of 
their  meeting,  and  that  they  would  meet  again. 


THE   SYMPOSIUM.  191 

"That's  all,"  said  Norton,  tossing  his  dead  cigar 
into  the  fireplace,  and  folding  his  arms. 

"It  seems  cruel  —  and  yet,  I  do  n't  know  !  "said  I. 

"It  was  the  blessing  of  my  life,"  returned  he.  "I 
don't  understand  it.  I  can't  explain  it.  I  won't 
even  say  that  I  believe  it ;  but  it  was  that." 

"And  what  about  the  diamond  scheme?"  asked 
I,  after  a  while. 

Norton  shook  his  head.  "Nothing.  Those  fel 
lows  turned  out  swindlers ;  if  I  had  gone  to  them, 
I  should  probably  never  have  been  heard  of  again. 
They  meant  to  steal  my  process  and  then  put  me 
out  of  the  way." 

"Then  that  gives  a  motive  for  Sybil's  appari 
tion." 

"Oh,  it  was  not  that!  "he  exclaimed,  almost 
indignantly.  "It  was  to  tell  me  something  of 
infinitely  greater  moment.  What  is  life?  But  she 
brought  me  —  something  better !  " 


This  story  seemed  to  impress  some  of  the  com 
pany,  and  I  fancied  I  noticed  a  look  of  thoughtful 
sympathy  in  the  eyes  of  my  friend  Captain  Keppel, 
who  had  recently  arrived  in  this  country  from  a 
sojourn  of  some  years  in  the  East.  As  I  knew  the 


192  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

captain  to  be  a  fascinating  narrator,  I  took 
advantage  of  my  position  next  to  Sam  to  whisper 
a  suggestion  to  him  ;  to  which  he  responded  by  an 
imperceptible  nod. 

It  may  be  as  well  to  say  here  that  the  captain 
looks  to  be  about  fifty  years  old,  though,  for  aught 
I  know,  he  may  be  twice  that  age.  There  is  no 
country  that  he  has  not  visited,  and  there  is  hardly 
a  man  or  woman  of  eminence  or  notoriety  of  the 
present  century  of  whom  he  has  not  some  personal 
anecdote  to  tell.  He  was  born  at  sea,  in  the  neigh 
borhood  of  Cape  Horn ;  his  mother  was  a 
Spaniard,  his  father  an  Englishman  who  had  spent 
most  of  his  life  in  America.  His  own  childish  years 
were  passed  in  Ceylon ;  he  was  educated  partly  in 
Vienna  and  Paris,  and  partly  at  Oxford.  By  dint 
of  interest  in  high  quarters,  he  obtained  a  lieuten 
ancy  in  the  English  army,  and  was  not  long  after 
ward  promoted  for  gallantry  in  the  field.  But  the 
conditions  of  army  life  appear  not  to  have  suited 
him  ;  and  having  at  a  very  early  age  attained  the 
rank  of  captain,  he  resigned  in  the  face  of  the  most 
flattering  prospects,  and  began  those  independent 
rambles  about  the  world  which  have  ever  since 
continued.  When  in  the  mood,  no  man  can  talk 
more  delightfully  than  he,  though  he  is  habitually 


THE   SYMPOSIUM.  193 

reticent  concerning  dates  and  localities.  The  cap 
tain  is  organically  related,  so  to  say,  to  all 
national  upheavals  and  convulsions ;  an  instinct 
for  which  he  himself  cannot  account  seems  to  draw 
him  to  the  center  of  interest  at  the  critical  moment. 
He  was  present  at  the  surrender  of  Sebastopol  — 
to  mention  an  event  that  fell  within  my  own  boy 
ish  recollections.  He  heard  the  guns  of  Sadowa; 
he  stood  on  the  fatal  field  of  Sedan ;  he  leaned  at 
the  door  of  the  little  hut  at  Plevna,  when  Osman 
Pasha,  wounded  and  beaten,  gave  up  his  sword  to 
young  Skobeloft.  He  saw  Alexander  II.  blown  to 
pieces  by  the  bombs  of  the  Nihilists;  he  sawO'Dor;- 
avan,  of  Merb,  meet  his  death  at  the  hands  of  El 
Mahdi ;  and  he  is  one  of  the  few  who  still  believe 
that  Chinese  Gordon  yet  lives,  and  "will  return  to 
tell  Europe  a  stranger  tale  of  adventure  than  any 
it  has  heretofore  listened  to.  There  is  reason  to 
believe,  too,  that  he  was  with  Walker  at  Nica 
ragua;  and  it  is  known  that  he  rode  at  Garibaldi's 
side  in  his  last  campaign.  But  the  captain  is  the 
quietest  of  men ;  he  wears  no  ribbon  in  his  but 
ton-hole,  nor  is  there  any  trace  of  bombast  in  his 
talk  or  manner.  So  simple  and  unstudied  are  the 
words  of  his  narratives  that  you  are  conscious 
not  of  them,  but  only  of  the  event  which  they  pcr- 

13 


194  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

tray.  He  is  a  spare,  soldierly,  sinewy  figure  of 
middle  height,  with  a  grave,  resolute  face,  gray 
moustache,  with  scanty  hair  curling  over  a  well 
formed  head ;  at  this  moment  he  held  a  cigar  in 
one  brown,  sinewy  hand,  while  the  other  played 
with  the  tiny  Indian  idol  at  his  watch  chain.  He 
was  saying,  in  that  deep,  lo\v,  leisurely  voice  of 
his,  that  it  would  be  money  in  the  pocket  of  the 
owner  of  the  Braganza  diamond  if  Dr.  Norton 
would  try  his  skill  on  that. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  it  ?  "  I  asked. 
The  captain  nodded. 

"Some  persons  say,"  remarked  Sam,  "that  it  is 
not  a  diamond  at  all ;  certainly  not  of  the  first 
water." 

"When  I  was  in  Rio,  a  good  many  years  ago," 
said  the  captain,  "the  then  young  Dom  Pedro 
showed  me  the  stone,  and  I  held  it  in  my  hand.  I 
could  just  make  my  fingers  meet  around  it.  It  is 
not,  of  course,  so  brilliant  as  the  Kohinoor ;  it  is 
not  cut  as  that  is ;  and  it  certainly  has  a  slight  yel 
lowish  tinge.  Nevertheless,  as  you  know,  it  has 
been  valued  at  $15,000,000  American  money,  and 
we  may  say  that  nowhere  else  is  so  great  value 
compressed  into  so  small  space.  The  ransom  of 
a  kingdom  within  the  grasp  of  a  schoolboy's  fist. 


THE   SYMPOSIUM.  195 

But  there  is  significance  in  the  legends  attached 
to  most  of  these  great  jewels — that  they  are 
inhabited  by  a  demon,  which  works  calamity  to 
whomsoever  becomes  possessed  of  it.  There  is 
something  destructive,  maddening,  phantasmal 
about  them ;  they  promise  infinite  wealth,  and 
they  bring  only  misery  and  death.  They  diminish, 
instead  of  adding  to  the  riches  and  prosperity  of 
the  world.  Their  history  is  a  history  of  robbery, 
oppression,  and  murder.  The  devil  is  in  'em,"  he 
added,  taking  a  puff  at  his  cigar.  After  a  pause, 
continued : 

"But  the  devil  doesn't  get  into  them  except  by 
our  introduction.  The  Braganza  lay  in  the  earth 
a  myriad  of  centuries,  unknown  and  untouched,  a 
mere  harmless,  glittering  lump  of  crystallized  car 
bon.  If  mankind  would  but  pass  a  law  that  such 
gems  bear  no  money  value,  and  are  to  be  used  only 
as  religious  emblems,  the  demon  would  be  exor 
cised,  and  we  would  all  be  the  happier." 

"You  seem  to  be  particularly  interested  in  the 
Braganza,"  said  I.  "Is  there  any  legend  attached 
to  it?" 

"There  is  a  strange  story  connected  with  it, 
which  I  heard,  a  good  while  ago,  from  the  chief 


196  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

actor  in  the  drama.    Do  you  know  the  circum 
stances  of  the  stone's  discovery?  " 

"It's  a  South  American  gem,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"Yes;  it  originally  belonged  to  the  Emperor  of 
Brazil,  and  was  given  by  him  to  the  King  of  Port 
ugal.  Well,  I  doubt  whether  any  one  now  living, 
except  myself,  knows  the  full  history  of  the  matter. 
I  have  met  with  few  instances  of  the  irony  of  fate 
more  remarkable;  as  the  tale  is  not  very  long,, 
perhaps  it  would  not  bore  you  to  hear  it." 

"I  was  just  about  to  ask  you  to  tell  it  to  usr 
captain,"  said  Sam. 

The  captain  laid  down  his  cigar,  folded  his  arms, 
and  after  a  few  moments'  recollection  began : 

THE  CAPTAIN'S  STORY. 

'ET  me  see  —  when  was  it?    Never  mind;  it 
,was  a  long  time  back.      I  was 
in  New  Orleans,  on  my  way  to 
Havana,   where  I    meant  to 
take  ship  to   Vera   Cruz, 
and    so    to  the  City  of 
Mexico.      There    was    a 
delay  in  getting  off, — yel 


low  jack  in  Havana,  or  something, —  at  all  events 
I  was  obliged  to  spend  some  ten  days  in  the  Cres- 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  STORY.  197 

cent  City.  One  day,  an  old,  white-headed  beggar 
came  up  on  crutches  to  the  veranda  of  the  hotel  at 
which  I  was  stopping,  and  asked  for  alms.  He 
had  a  look  of  having  seen  vicissitudes.  I  took  a 
fancy  to  him,  and  put  a  gold  eagle  in  his  hand. 

"You  seldom  get  hold  of  such  a  fortune  as 
that,"  said  I. 

"Senor,"  he  replied,  speaking  with  a  Spanish 
accent,  but  correctly  enough,  "I  have  held  in  this 
hand  what  would  buy  this  whole  city,  and  put  a 
new  city  in  its  place." 

"You  have  been  improvident, it  appears, "said  I. 

"My  improvidence,  senor,  was  before  that  time 
—  not  after." 

"Unfortunate,  eh?" 

"The  most  unfortunate,  senor,  of  God's  crea 
tures." 

"Miraculously  so,"  added  I;  "for  it  is  no  less 
than  a  miracle  that  a  man  should  be  able  to  lose  as 
much  money  as  that." 

"It  was  taken  from  me,"  said  he. 

"But  you  resisted ?  " 

"No,  senor." 

"Who  was  the  thief?" 

"It  is  a  question  that  I  have  often  asked  myself, 
senor.  I  have  sometimes  said  that  it  was  one  man, 


198  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

sometimes  another;  at  times  I  have  accused 
myself.  But,  at  the  last,  I  think  it  was  none  of 
these;  it  was — Fate." 

"That  may  be  said  of  all  misfortunes ;  you  are  a 
philosopher;  but  most  men  would  not  give  up  such 
a  fortune,  even  to  Fate,  without  a  struggle.  Any 
how,  Fate  can't  have  spent  the  money." 

The  fellow  shrugged  his  shoulders.  I  saw  that 
there  was  a  mystery  somewhere,  so  I  made  him 
come  up  to  my  room,  and  put  a  bottle  of  wine  on 
the  table  between  us.  There  and  then  he  told  me 
the  story  of  his  life.  Here  it  is : 

His  name  was  John  Cordoba.  He  was  born  at 
Monterey,  his  father  being  a  respectable  man,  and 
well  off,  as  times  went ;  his  mother  was  the  hand 
somest  \voman  in  the  town.  Juan  remarked  that 
he  resembled  her  in  his  youth  ;  and  possibly  he  did. 
The  inhabitants  \vere  under  the  dominion  of  the 
priests,  who  practically  owned  everything,  and 
lived  in  a  big  adobe  mission  building,  the  ruins  of 
which  I  have  seen.  When  the  California  gold-fever 
began  many  emigrants  passed  through  Monterey, 
and  left  a  good  deal  of  money  behind  them  there ; 
but  this  was  long  before  that  period.  Juan  lived 
in  an  adobe  house,  built  round  a  court,  verandaed, 
stuccoed  and  white  washed.  There  was  no  school- 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  STORY.  199 

ing  in  those  days,  and  Juan  played  about  wherever 
fancy  led  him ;  his  mother  idolized  him ;  he  was  the 
only  son,  and  all  went  his  way. 

This  mother  of  his  was  a  very  superstitious 
woman — a  believer  in  omens,  witchcraft,  and 
magic  white  and  black.  She  was  not  herself  an 
adept,  but  there  was  an  old  Indian  wizard  whose 
acquaintance  she  cultivated,  and  whose  advice  she 
followed.  Had  she  been  a  New  Englander,  she 
might  have  worked  off  this  imaginative  tendency 
by  writing  romantic  stories  for  the  magazines,  or  in 
lecturing  on  Women's  Rights.  As  it  was,  she  had 
to  wreak  herself  on  mysticism ;  and  perhaps  that 
way  is  as  harmless  as  any.  But  it  turned  out 
badly  for  poor  Juan.  At  the  time  of  his  birth,  she 
had  the  old  Indian  hag  cast  his  horoscope,  and 
caused  it  to  be  engraved  on  a  gold  disc,  about  the 
size  of  your  hand;  and  for  many  years  Juan  wore 
it  suspended  to  his  neck  by  chain;  in  fact  he  kept 
it  until  he  lost  everything.  If  any  horoscope 
ever  deserved  to  be  preserved,  certainly  this  did ; 
it  was  a  truly  remarkable  affair. 

Are  you  familiar  with  the  technical  terms  of 
astrology?  If  not,  I  won't  trouble  you  with  such 
details  as  what  planet  was  Lord  of  Life,  what 
signs  were  hostile  and  what  favorable,  and  how 


200  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

they  were  posted.  Juan  drew  it  all  out  for  me  on 
the  fly  leaf  of  an  old  testament  that  happened  to  be 
lying  on  the  mantelpiece ;  it  must  be  confessed  that 
it  had  an  alluring  look  to  it — quite  enough  to 
ensnare  a  sounder  judgment  than  his.  There  wrere 
a  number  of  minor  indications,  good  and  bad;  but 
the  great  point,  overruling  and  dwarfing  all  the 
rest,  was  to  the  effect  that  the  "native,"  on  a 
certain  date  between  his  twenty-second  and 
twenty-third  years,  was  to  become  possessed  of 
greater  wealth  than  belonged  to  any  living  man, 
and  that  he  should  acquire  this  all  in  one  day. 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  signs ;  if  any 
reliance  was  to  be  placed  in  astrology,  then  the 
truth  of  this  prediction  was  beyond  question. 
Needless  to  say  that  Juan's  mother  believed  it,  and 
that  she  brought  up  Juan  in  the  faith.  He  was 
given  to  know  that  he  was  to  be  the  greatest  cap 
italist  of  the  century  soon  after  he  came  of  age.  He 
inherited  his  mother's  imaginative  temperament, 
combined  with  a  strong  mingling  of  Mexican  indo 
lence;  and  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  his 
splendid  expectations  disinclined  him  to  work  his 
way  through  the  world.  All  the  nearly  boundless 
power  that  wealth  can  give  was  to  be  his.  His 
father  died  while  Juan  was  a  child,  and  thus  the 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  STORY. 


201 


only    restraining    influence    over    the    boy    was 

removed.  He  became  the  little  autocrat  of  his  own 

home,   and  was  even    regarded 

-with  a  sort  of  reverence  by 

others.      People    humored 

him,   and  as  he  grew  to 

manhood,  he  waxed  ever  „,,-// 

more  overbearing    and 

headstrong.      He    was 

the  handsome,  reckless 

ungovernable    Juan 

Cordoba,     with     a 

dazzling     future    be 

It  was  more  prudent  to  be  the 

the  enemy  of  a  man  like  that.     Out  of  his  countless 

millions  he  might  enrich  every  man,  \voman  and 

child  in  Monterey,  and  never  feel  the  difference. 

Meanwhile  he  felt  safe  in  spending  freely  what 
ever  money  he  could  lay  hands  on.  There  was  no 
Jew  money-lender  in  Monterey,  and  even  had  there 
been,  he  might  have  hesitated  to  accept  Juan's 
security ;  but  his  mother  gave  him  all  she  had. 
Why  should  she  refuse  him  ?  In  a  few  years  it 
\vould  all  return  to  her  a  millionfold,  and  it  was 
well  that  the  boy  should  acquire  the  habit  of  dis 
pensing  riches.  So  Juan  cut  a  fine  figure,  wearing 


fore  him. 
friend  than 


202  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

the  finest  elothes  that  money  could  buy,  and  try 
ing  his  best  to  behave  as  if  the  hour  of  destiny  had 
already  struck.  One  can  imagine  it  must  have 
been  an  agreeable  life ;  spending  all  there  was  in 
hand,  and  trusting  in  the  stars  to  reimburse  him 
without  limit  hereafter.  Like  Julius  Cassar  and 
Napoleon  Bonaparte,  he  regarded  himself  as 
superior  to  the  rest  of  men  —  as  the  favorite  of  the 
gods.  Whatever  he  attempted  must  succeed ; 
whatever  he  did  must  be  right.  For  a  long  while 
results  seemed  to  confirm  his  assumption.  He  had 
the  best  of  good  luck.  Where  others  would  have 
met  disaster,  he  emerged  scathless. 

So  handsome  and  conspicuous  a  youth  was  sure 
to  have  plenty  of  love  affairs,  and  Juan  might  have 
married  the  best  match  on  the  coast  had  he 
chosen ;  but  he  was  not  at  this  period  a  marrying 
man.  He  meant  to  wed  an  empress  one  of  these 
days,  and  was  not  going  to  throw  himself  away 
on  a  Mexican  senorita.  At  the  same  time,  he  was 
no  ascetic,  and  the  consequences  were  as  might 
have  been  expected.  He  lived  in  a  tangle  of 
intrigues,  and  since  discretion  was  never  the  lead 
ing  trait  of  his  character,  it  was  a  constant  mar 
vel  that  he  escaped  getting  a  knife  bet  ween  his  ribs. 
To  judge  by  his  own  account,  the  women  knew 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  STORY.  203 

not  how  to  resist  him ;  and  on  the  other  hand,  the 
women's  natural  protectors  were  never  on  hand  at 
the  right  moment. 

One  young  lady,  Maria  Torres  by  name,  made  a 
particular  impression  on  Juan.  She  lived  near  San 
Jose.  Her  father,  an  alcalde,  was  not  ignorant  of 
Juan's  reputation,  and  prevented  him  from  having 
access  to  her.  She  was  betrothed  to  her  cousin 
Gonzales.  Stimulated  by  opposition,  Juan  finally 
succeeded  in  getting  some  private  conversation 
•with  Maria,  and  promised  her  marriage.  At  all 
events,  he  so  dazzled  and  misled  her,  that  she  con 
sented  to  an  elopement.  The  distance  from  San 
Jose  to  Monterey  is  about  fifty  miles.  Juan  rode 
thither  one  night,  rested  the  next  day,  and  on  the 
following  night  awaited  Maria  at  a  place  pre 
viously  agreed  on  with  two  horses.  It  was  his 
plan  to  ride  with  her  to  Santa  Cruz,  take  a  vessel 
there  and  escape  to  one  of  the  islands  off  Santa 
Barbara. 

He  had  at  this  juncture  nearly  completed  his 
twenty-first  year  and  was  looking  forward  with 
impatience  to  the  accomplishment  of  the  prophecy. 
In  truth,  he  had  nearly  got  to  the  end  of  his  tether. 
All  the  property  his  father  had  left  was  spent; 
house  and  lands  \vere  mortgaged  to  their  full 


204  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

value ;  and  many  debts  had  been  incurred.  Unless 
destiny  soon  appeared,  he  was  likely  to  have  trou 
ble.  But  he  had  no  misgivings.  On  the  contrary, 
as  he  waited  at  the  trysting-place,  he  had  never 
felt  more  assured  that  all  was  going  well. 

Maria  came  at  last  and  received  an  ardent 
welcome.  But  before  Juan  could  lift  her  into  the 
saddle,  two  men,  who  were  any  thing  but  welcome, 
joined  the  party.  They  were  the  alcalde  and 
Manuel  Gonzales.  The  former  rode  at  Juan,  who 
\vas  still  on  foot,  with  his  pistol  leveled.  It  was 
life  or  death.  Juan  snatched  his  own  pistol  and 
fired;  the  alcalde  fell.  Manuel  sprang  from  his 
horse  and  rushed  on  Juan  with  his  knife.  The  next 
moment,  Manuel  was  on  the  ground  with  his  own 
knife  buried  in  his  heart.  It  was  all  over  in  a 
couple  of  minutes.  The  noise  had  attracted  some 
people  in  the  neighborhood,  and  Juan  had  no  time 
to  lose.  It  was  useless  to  think  of  Maria ;  she  was 
on  her  knees  beside  her  father;  he  drove  in  his 
spurs  and  was  off.  Toward  morning  he  reached 
the  coast,  boarded  his  vessel,  and  made  sail.  Such 
was  the  end  of  his  last  love  affair. 

During  the  voyage,  he  had  ample  leisure  to 
review  his  position.  He  was  ruined  in  purse  and 
person ;  for  his  horoscope  could  not  have  availed 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  STORY.  205 

to  save  his  life.  Even  in  Mexico,  it  is  not  a  con 
venient  thing  to  murder  alcaldes ;  though,  to  be 
sure,  as  he  learned  years  afterward,  the  old  gentle 
man  was  only  wounded,  and  survived  for  many 
years.  But  Manuel  was  dead,  and  Juan  was 
known  to  be  his  slayer.  He  could  never  venture 
back  to  his  own  home,  for  it  would  add  a  bitter 
ness  to  death  were  he  to  suffer  it  after  having  got 
his  millions.  Juan,  however,  did  not  dread  home 
sickness.  When  his  destiny  was  accomplished,  he 
could  send  for  his  mother,  change  his  name,  and 
live  in  splendor  where  he  chose.  The  recent  catas 
trophe  had  not  in  the  least  weakened  Juan's  faith 
in  his  golden  future.  The  adventure  might  have 
turned  out  worse.  He  had  escaped  without  a 
scratch,  and  though  he  could  not  have  Maria, 
neither  could  Gonzales.  There  were  other  Marias, 
not  to  speak  of  empresses.  It  was  not  Juan's  cue 
to  repent ;  life  was  before  him,  and  he  felt  qualified 
to  enjoy  it.  The  great  change  could  not  now  be 
far  distant.  Meanwhile,  except  the  clothes  he  wore 
and  a  hundred  dollars  in  his  belt,  he  had  nothing. 
He  lay  on  the  deck,  wondering  in  what  form  and 
by  what  means  his  fortune  was  to  come  to  him. 
Was  he  to  find  the  philosopher's  stone  ?  Was  he 
to  stumble  on  a  gold  mine  ?  It  was  a  curious  fact, 


206  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

he  told   me,  that  in   none  of  his  speculations  did 
the  thought  of  diamonds  come  to  him. 

After  a  week  at  sea,  they  were  still  forty  miles 
north  of  the  Santa  Barbara  islands.  It  now  fell 
dead  calm,  and  they  lay  rolling  and  creaking  on  a 
long  swell  for  four  and  twenty  hours.  Then,  in  a 
moment,  as  it  seemed,  a  hurricane  from  the  north 
east  struck  them.  They  drove  staggering  to  the 
south-west  for  a  night  and  a  day ;  the  wind  then 
moderated,  but  soon  began  again  from  the  north 
west.  The  vessel  was  in  a  sinking  condition,  and 
the  boats  had  been  swept  away ;  the  crew  set  to 
work  to  make  a  raft.  Juan  looked  on  but  made  no 
offer  to  help.  So  persuaded  was  he  of  his  charmed 
life  that  at  no  time  during  the  storm  had  he  felt 
uneasy  as  to  his  ultimate  safety.  When  the  raft 
was  finished,  it  was  found  to  be  barely  large 
enough  to  accommodate  the  crew  ;  and  the  captain 
told  Juan  that,  since  he  had  not  seen  fit  to  help 
them,  he  might  now  help  himself.  The  men  got 
aboard,  hoisted  a  sail,  and  drifted  away,  leaving 
Juan  to  sink  with  the  ship.  When  morning  broke, 
the  raft  was  out  of  sight,  but  the  ship  was  still 
afloat.  About  noon,  a  barque  hove  in  sight,  bore 
down  on  him,  and  took  on  board  the  man  of 
destiny,  little  the  worse  for  his  adventure.  The 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  STORY.  207 

raft  was  never  again  heard  of;  the  ship  sank 
within  an  hour  after  Juan  left  her.  He  felt  more 
than  ever  convinced  that  his  loner  a\vaited  glorv 

4  o  o 

was  at  hand. 

The  barque  that  had  rescued  him  was  bound  for 
the  Isthmus,  and  in  the  course  of  a  few  days  he 
was  landed  there.  While  his  money  held  out,  he 
lived  at  his  ease,  making  no  provisions  against 
possible  impecuniosity  in  the  future ;  meanwhile  he 
made  the  acquaintance  of  some  persons  who  seemed 
as  aimless  as  himself;  but  by  the  time  his  last  dol 
lar  was  gone,  he  had  got  an  inkling  as  to  what 
their  trade  might  be.  They  were  in  fact  highway 
men,  and  they  did  business  on  the  road  across  the 
Isthmus  by  which  the  emigrants  traveled.  The 
opportunities  for  escape  and  concealment  which 
this  locality  offered  \vere  excellent,  and  the  returns 
too  rich  to  be  despised  by  even  so  important  a  per 
sonage  as  Senor  Juan  Cordoba.  The  question  of 
morality  did  not  much  disturb  him ;  he  was 
already  an  outlaw.  In  short,  this  romantic  vaga 
bond  became  a  brigand ;  and  since  he  was  of  a 
masterful  and  daring  disposition,  he  was  presently 
elected  captain  of  the  band,  which  now  became  a 
terror  to  the  country.  In  these  agreeable  pursuits 
Captain  Juan  whiled  away  a  year  or  more ;  and 


208  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

the  day  was  not  far  off  when  the  prophecy  of  the 
horoscope  must  fall  due. 

The  brigands,  in  the  intervals  of  their  raids,  were 
in  the  habit  of  assuming  a  law-abiding  guise,  and 
amusing  themselves  in  one  or  other  of  the  coast 
settlements.  Here,  as  luck  wTould  have  it,  Juan  ran 
across  a  gentleman  whose  worldly  goods  he  had 
appropriated  a  few  days  previous,  and  wrho  recog 
nized  him  on  the  spot.  He  was  arrested,  and  find 
ing  that  denials  were  unavailing,  he  not  only  made 
a  clean  breast  of  it  as  regarded  himself,  but  also 
revealed  the  names  of  his  associates.  The  latter 
\vere  promptly  hanged,  but  Juan,  out  of  recogni 
tion  for  his  assistance,  was  put  in  a  striped  suit, 
his  hair  cropped  short,  his  shoulder  branded  with 
a  hot  iron,  and  he  was  given  a  life-job  as  a  govern 
ment  convict.  But  his  life  was  spared. 

While  there's  life,  there's  hope;  and  Juan  did  not 
lose  courage.  He  thought  he  could  easily  contrive 
an  escape;  either  an  earthquake  wrould  swallow 
up  his  keepers,  or  an  angel  \vould  descend  from 
heaven  and  loose  his  fetters,  or  some  expedient  for 
getting  rid  of  them  would  present  itself.  In  the 
meantime  he  maintained  cheerful  and  friendly  rela 
tions  writh  his  guards,  and  they  permitted  him  to 
wear  his  amulet  beneath  his  striped  jacket — for  as 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  STORY. 


209 


an  amulet  he  regarded  the  gold  horoscope  which 
contained  the  assurance  that  his  misfortunes  must 
soon  cease.  One  day,  however,  he  and  some  of  his 
companions  were  put  on  board  a  vessel  bound  to 
the  harbor  of  Rio  Janeiro. 

The  heat  was  intolerable,  and  the  sufferings  of 
the    involuntary    voyagers 
were  great.       Fever  broke 
out  among  them  ;  but  Juan 
was  not  attacked.   The  ma 
jority  of  the  sick  died,  but 
the  man  of  destiny  survived. 
"  Having    arrived     at    their 
port,    they     were        "  ~^-~ 
taken    ashore,    di 
vided  into  parties, 
and  marched  into 
the  interior.     The 
Brazilian    govern 
ment,   needing  la 
bor  on  the  roads 
of  the  country,  had 
contracted  for  the 
labor  of  the  con 
victs.      Having 
reached  their  destination,  they  were  each  morning 


210  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

chained  leg  to  leg,  driven  to  the  scene  of  opera 
tions,  and  kept  at  work  there  till  sundown.  It 
was  killing  toil;  but  Juan,  wiry  and  vigorous,  was 
supported  by  the  conviction  that  the  day  of  his 
deliverance  was  at  hand.  This  secret  belief  so  ani 
mated  him,  that  he  obtained  the  favor  of  his 
employers,  and  was  promoted  to  the  post  of  dep 
uty  overseer.  He  was  freed  from  the  chain  that 
bound  him  to  his  mate,  and  was  occasionally 
allowed  to  lay  down  his  own  pick  and  shovel,  and 
direct  the  work  of  the  others.  So  time  went  on, 
and  though  he  lost  the  count  of  days,  he  was 
able  to  say  to  himself  every  morning,  "perhaps  it 
will  be  to-day;"  and  every  evening,  "perhaps 
to-morrow."  And  he  smiled  privately  to  himself 
to  think  how  surprised  his  keepers  would  be. 

The  severest  labor  was  the  cutting  down  of  the 
tropical  vegetation  which  often  crossed  the  line  of 
the  road.  But  much  of  the  country  was  a  level 
plain,  with  rocks  jutting  up  out  of  it,  moulded  in  fan 
tastic  forms ;  again,  there  were  stretches  of  ferru 
ginous  gravel ;  and  sometimes  broad  marsh-lands 
in  the  midst  of  the  savanna,  carpeted  with  grass 
whose  bright  green  hue  contrasted  pleasantly  with 
the  brown  herbage  of  the  plains.  Though  the  heat 
was  great,  hunger  was  almost  as  sharp  as  thirst, 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  STORY.  211 

and  there  was  no  solid  food  to  be  had  except  beef, 
which  must  be  eaten  as  soon  as  killed,  or  else 
salted.  The  pulp-covered  nuts  of  theBacaba  palm 
•were  more  agreeable  to  the  palate ;  and  a  drink 
was  made  of  the  red  berries  of  the  Guarana,  dried 
to  powder  and  mixed  with  water.  Air  and  earth 
\vere  full  of  insects,  and  overhead  hovered  the 
great  urubus,  looking  for  carrion.  The  beauty  of 
flowers  was  everywhere;  each  day's  sun  set  in  a 
blaze  of  splendor,  and  in  the  mornings  the  low 
banks  of  cloud  were  tinged  with  ethereal  rose- 
color  ;  but  the  existence  led  by  the  convicts  was  a 
constant  torture,  which  no  fairness  of  nature  could 
alleviate. 

At  times,  in  the  midst  of  the  day's  toil,  a  deep 
stillness  would  settle  down,  and  soon  black  clouds 
would  collect  on  the  horizon,  and  move  to  the 
zenith.  Then  lightning  and  thunder  would  flash 
and  explode  in  the  black  vault,  and  the  rain  \vould 
fall  in  broad  masses,  hissing  on  the  hot  face  of  the 
earth.  During  these  fierce  paroxysms  of  storm  all 
work  was  suspended,  and  the  men  sought  what 
shelter  they  could  find.  During  one  of  these  storms, 
Juan  took  advantage  of  the  cover  afforded  by  a 
mushroom  shaped  rock  at  the  roadside.  Two  of 
the  other  convicts  squatted  beside  him.  The 


212  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

steady  roar  of  the  deluge,  the  detonations  and 
the  flashes,  produced  a  sort  of  numbness  of  the 
senses.  The  streams  of  water  careering  down  the 
slopes  wore  deep  channels  in  the  soil ;  and  as  Juan 
stood  vacantly  gazing  at  these  ruts  his  eye  was 
caught  by  the  shining  of  a  large  crystal.  It  had 
been  laid  bare  by  the  little  torrent;  and  after  a 
while,  fearing  lest  it  should  be  covered  up  again, 
Juan  issued  from  his  shelter  and  picked  it  up. 

As  he  grasped  it  in  his  hand,  an  explosion  as  of 
cannon  fired  into  his  ear  stunned  him,  and  at  the 
same  moment  he  was  enveloped  in  a  blinding  glare 
that  hurled  him  to  the  ground  and  seemed  to  dry 
up  all  the  juices  of  his  body.  He  became  senseless. 
On  coming  to  himself,  he  saw  that  the  storm  was 
over;  but  beneath  the  ledge  of  the  rock  lay  the 
blackened  bodies  of  his  two  companions,  dead  and. 
rigid.  The  right  leg  of  his  own  trousers  was 
scorched  below  the  knee,  and  the  limb  twisted; 
the  links  of  the  chain  that  fettered  his  ankles  were 
fused,  and  the  chain  no  longer  bound  him ;  but  the 
thunderbolt  had  laid  fetters  upon  him  that  could 
never  be  loosened ;  he  was  a  cripple  for  life. 

He  still  clutched  in  his  hand  the  piece  of  shining 
crystal  which  had  saved  his  life  and  mocked  him 
by  severing  his  chains.  Could  his  limbs  have 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  STORY.  213 

served  him,  he  might  have  escaped  then  and  there 
in  the  dense  jungle  that  extended  close  to  the  road. 
But  he  sat  helpless,  with  the  great  crystal,  larger 
than  a  hen's  egg,  sparkling  in  his  hand.  Presently 
the  two  overseers  who  had  the  party  in  charge, 
and  who  had  been  stunned  but  not  injured  by  the 
shock,  came  up  to  him.  Finding  that  he  could  not 
stand,  they  decided  to  return  to  the  camp,  about 
two  miles  off,  and  bring  an  ox-cart  on  which  to 
transport  him,  and  the  bodies  of  his  late  com 
panions. 

"Remember  not  to  run  away,"  said  one,  wag 
gishly  ;  "exertion  in  this  weather  is  unhealthy." 

"What  has  our  gentleman  got  in  his  hand?" 
said  the  other.  "  It  sparkles  well." 

"I  picked  it  out  of  the  mud,"  said  Juan,  indiffer 
ently,  letting  the  man  take  it. 

"Only  a  bit  of  melted  glass,"  said  the  first 
speaker. 

"Melted  glass  doesn't  grow  hereabouts," 
returned  his  companion.  "That's  a  bit  of  crystal, 
and  not  a  bad  bit,  either.  I've  seen  worse 
sold  for  a  dollar.  I  shall  take  it  back  to  camp, 
and  show  it  to  the  engineer." 

"  Yerv  well;  only,  whatever  we  get  for  it,  we  go 


214  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

shares,  amigo,"  was  the  reply.  "Ah,  if  it  were 
only  a  diamond,  now." 

"Holy  Virgin!  A  diamond!  You  and  I  would 
then  buy  Brazil,  and  use  it  for  a  cattle-ranch." 
They  walked  away  laughing. 

Juan  had  sat  during  their  conversation  in  a  mood 
of  gloomy  abstraction,  and  he  so  remained  after 
they  were  gone.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he 
felt  unhopeful.  It  was  not  only  that  he  was 
maimed;  he  had  a  sense  of  having  lost  something 

o  o 

more  than  bodily  vigor.    What  was  it  ? 

"Holy  Virgin!  A  diamond!"  Who  had  said 
that?  Had  he  said  it  himself  ?  A  diamond;  what 
diamond ?  "Holy  Virgin !  A  diamond !  "  What 
had  put  that  into  his  head  ?  Stay ;  were  not  dia 
monds  sometimes  found  in  Brazil  ?  Diamonds  are 
a  kind  of  crystal;  that  stone  that  he  had  found 
was  a  crystal.  Suddenly  Juan  sat  erect  and 
stretched  out  his  clenched  hands  before  him,  while 
his  face  grew  crimson.  It  was  too  terrible  to  be 
believed.  It  was  impossible;  and  yet  —  to-day 
must  be  the  very  day  foretold  by  the  horoscope. 
It  must  be  so,  because  to-morrow  was  Sunday, 
and  the  fatal  day  was  the  Saturday  before  his 
birthday,  which  he  knew  was  next  week. 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  STORY.  215 

But  a  diamond  nearly  as  large  as  a  man's  fist ! 
Who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing?  Aye,  but  who 
ever  heard  of  such  a  fortune  as  had  been  promised 
him?  And  it  had  come  to  him,  a  cripple  and  a 
convict !  A  convict  who  had  no  rights — who  could 
own  nothing.  "Holy  Virgin!  A  diamond!"  A 
diamond  indeed  !  Such  a  diamond  as  would  buy 
a  nation.  Yes,  he  had  found  and  had  held  in  his 
hand  the  chief  diamond  of  the  world,  and  had 
given  it  away  without  a  thought.  And  so  had  the 
prophecy  been  fulfilled  —  so  had  Providence,  in 
which  he  had  never  lost  faith,  kept  faith  with  him* 

He  shrieked  ;  he  raved ;  he  shouted  to  the  black 
ened  corpses,  on  which  the  urubus  were  already 
beginning  to  settle;  he  rolled  on  the  earth,  and 
beat  his  head  in  frenzy  against  the  stones.  A  crip 
ple  and  a  convict,  and  to  have  found  the  greatest 
diamond  in  the  world !  He  again  became  insensi 
ble,  and  the  urubus  hopped  beside  him,  with  heads 
sidewise,  and  hungry  beaks. 

He  opened  his  eyes ;  someone  was  shaking  him 
by  the  shoulder.  It  was  the  man  to  whom  he  had 
given  the  diamond. 

"Heh,  amigOj  have  you  found  any  more  of  those 
"bits  of  glass?  " 


216 


six  CENT  SAM'S. 


millions;  and 
here,  and  I 
dol- 


"Give  me  back  my  crystal, "said  Juan, in  a  whis 
per. 

"Ha,  ha,— his  crystal!  Come,  do  you  know 
what  sort  of  a  crystal  that  was  of  yours?  Why, 
it's  a  diamond — a  true  dia  ^^  mond,  worth 
hundreds  of 
m  y  friend, 

shall  get  a  thousand  ^/^  /   =  /> 

lars  apiece  for  it ;  and,  by    \ 
the  Virgin,  we  have  spoken  a 
good  word  for  thee,  too,  and  — 
who  knows  ? — thou  mayst  get, 
thy  pardon  in  a  year  or  two.( 
Carrambo  !  such  crystals  are 
worth  picking  up." 

"My  life — my  diamond !  "muttered  Juan,  and  fell 
forward  on  his  face. 

WThen  a  man  has  lived  wholly  under  the  domin 
ion  of  a  fixed  idea,  and  something  happens  to 
deprive  him  of  it,  his  life,  in  a  sense,  comes  to  an 
end.  Two  men  could  not  differ  from  each  other 
more  than  did  the  Juan  who  had  been  before  the 
finding  of  the  diamond,  from  the  thunder-smitten 
wretch  who  crept  about  Rio  a  }-ear  later,  pardoned 
by  the  emperor.  For  a  long  time  his  mind  was 
affected.  At  last,  one  dav,  he  found  himself  in 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  STORY.  217 

Panama,  without  knowing  how  he  got  there,  and 
thence,  in  the  course  of  years,  he  made  his  way  as  far 
north  as  Los  Angeles.  There,  driving  in  a  car 
riage,  with  a  Spanish  officer — evidently  her  hus 
band — by  her  side,  he  saw  a  beautiful  woman 
Avhom  he  recognized,  though  she  did  not  recognize 
him  ;  she  tossed  him  a  bit  of  silver,  with  a  glance 
of  pity  and  slight  aversion.  He  flung  it  back  to  her 
with  a  snarl  of  rage ;  it  was  the  first  touch  of 
-emotion,  good  or  bad,  that  he  had  felt  since  he  lost 
the  diamond. 

He  finally  came  to  New  Orleans,  and  had 
remained  there  ever  since.  When  I  met  him,  he  was 
a  very  old  man.  By  the  time  he  had  finished  his 
story,  the  bottle  of  wine  was  finished  too.  I 
thanked  him  for  the  entertainment  he  had  given 
me,  and  he,  saluting  me  with  a  certain  dignity, 
hobbled  out  of  the  room.  I  went  to  the  window, 
and  looked  out.  There  was  a  rattle  of  wheels  and 
a  shouting  in  the  street,  and  I  saw  a  carriage 
drawn  by  two  horses  that  were  running  away. 
Juan  Cordoba  was  at  that  moment  crossing  the 
street  on  his  crutches.  The  carriage  whirled  by  in 
an  instant ;  and  there,  on  the  pavement,  lay  the 
finder  of  the  Braganza  diamond.  They  brought 
him  to  the  veranda  of  the  hotel;  but  when  I 


218 


six  CENT  SAM'S. 


reached   him,  I  saw   that  the  poor    fellow   had 
gone  where  diamonds  have  no  value. 


The  captain  picked  up  his  cigar  and  relighted  it ~ 
the  rest  of  us  sat  silent  for  a  minute  at  least.  Then 
Sam,  without  making  any  comment,  addressed 
the  individual  on  his  left  hand,  who,  owing  to  his 
position,  was  the  only  person  at  table  whom  I  had 
not  been  able  to  see. 

"If  I'm  not  mistaken,"  said  Sam,  "you've  been 
abroad,  too.  Would  you  mind  telling  us  about 
something  entertaining  over  there  ? 

Whereupon,  the  person  in  question  opened  his 
mouth  and  discoursed  to  the  following  effect: 

THE  UNSEEN  MAN'S  STORY. 

HE  friends  whom  I  expected 
to    meet    in    Athens    had 
been  gone  two  days  when  I 
'"  arrived.     This  was  the  first 
g^of  October.     I  spent  three 
weeks    exploring  the  Gre 
cian  capital   and  its  envi 
rons,  and  then  I  ran  across  my  old  college  mate, 
Haymaker,  one  cf  the  most  useful  men  living,  for 


THE  UNSEEN  MAN'S  STORY.  219 

he  knows  everyone  and  everything,  has  been  every 
where,  and  is  as  full  of  enthusiasm  and  energy  as 
on  the  day  he  entered  the  freshman  class. 

He  asked  me  whether  I  had  been  to  Egypt.  I 
said  that  I  had  not.  "Then  now  is  your  time!  "' 
was  his  reply;  and  taking  out  a  notebook,  he  pro 
ceeded  to  jot  down  for  me  an  itinerary,  containing 
such  useful  details  as  the  names  of  the  best  hotels^ 
merchants  and  dragomen,  the  things  to  be  seen 
and  the  order  in  which  to  see  them,  the  number  of 
days  or  weeks  to  be  spent  in  various  places,  the 
fees  to  be  paid  to  government  officers  and  others, 
and  the  approximate  total  expenses  of  a  six  months 
trip. 

"There  you  are,  my  dear  boy,"  said  he,  hand 
ing  me  the  paper,  "and  when  you  get  home, 
if  you  don't  confess  that  }rour  winter  on  the  Nile 
was  the  pleasantest  experience  of  your  travels,  I'll 
stand  a  dinner  for  a  dozen  at  Delmonico's,  and  you 
shall  make  a  speech!"  As  we  shook  hands  at 
parting,  he  added,  "Mind  and  don't  forgettolook 
up  old  Carigliano.  Charming  old  maniac — worth 
all  the  rest  of  the  trip  put  together!  " 

I  embarked  for  Alexandria  a  few  days  later,  and 
on  the  fifth  of  November  we  sighted  the  Pharos,  in 
a  temperature  of  seventy -eight  degrees,  and  in  the 


220  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

midst  of  a  color,  a  movement,  a  picturesqueness, 
and  a  strangeness,  such  as  are  to  be  met  with  only 
in  the  East.  The  wharves  crowded  with  shipping, 
the  ports,  the  villas  and  the  palaces,  glowed  in  the 
calm  clear  light  of  the  oriental  afternoon.  Handed 
at  the  custom  house  in  a  perfect  Babel  and  jostled 
by  a  crowd  of  dark-hued  faces,  bare  legs,  and 
scanty  but  gorgeously  fine  clothing.  In  a  whirl  of 
gesticulation,  broken  English,  and  rapacious,  good- 
humored  excitement,  I  had  my  trunks  examined 
and  was  driven  (following  Haymaker's  advice)  to 
the  Hotel  Europe.  There  I  secured  the  services  of 
Ahmed  Hassan  as  dragoman,  and  my  Egyptian 
campaign  began. 

Everybody  has  made  the  same  campaign,  or  has 
read  accounts  of  it,  so  that  I  will  not  enlarge  upon 
my  individual  experiences.  I  stayed  in  Alexandria 
a  week,  and  then  took  the  train  through  the  green 
antiquity  of  immemorial  Egypt,  as  far  as  Cairo. 
There  I  remained  a  month  —  long  enough  to  begin 
to  feel  in  harmony  with  the  oriental  idea.  In  other 
words,  I  began  to  get  used  to  turbans,  to  naked 
ness,  to  the  union  of  inconceivable  squalor  and 
splendor;  to  streets  a  yard  \vide  crammed  with 
donkeys,  camels,  merchandise,  and  the  population 
•of  a  score  of  barbarous  countries ;  to  the  awful 


THE   UNSEEN  MAN'S   STORY. 


221 


repose  of  the  living  desert,  and  to  the  immortal 
simplicity  of  the  mysterious  pyramids  and  of  the 
Sphinx.  I  became  accustomed  to  a  sky  from  which 
no  rain  ever  fell,  and  to  a  valley  whose  verdure 
was  derived  from  a  spring  which  no  man  had  ever 
discovered.  I  grew  familiar  with  the  cry  of  the 
muezzin  from  the  minarets,  and  \vith  the  calm  and 
shadowy  interior  of  the  domed  and  splendid 
mosques.  Egypt  is  the  stimulus  and  the  despair 
of  adjectives !  I  welcomed  the  unveiled  sunshine 
to  the  marrow  of  my  bones,  and  thought 
of  Cleopatra  and  the  Pharaohs. 
There  is  no  other  land  so  strange 
as  this,  nor  any  in 


which  the  stranger 

comes  to  feel  himself 

ally    at    home.      At 

dahaheah,   and, 

of  December,  I 

of  the 

exchange 

wriggle 

back  for  the 

and  musical  ripple 


so  soon 
prehistoric- 
last  I  hired  a 
on  the  fifteenth 
began  the  ascent 
Nile,  not  sorry  to 
the  jolt  and 

^_s~"» 

±T     of  the  donkey- 
ziT  smooth  glide 
of  the  Egyp 


tian  sail-boat. 
Now  ensued  three  weeks  of  enforced  but  delicious 


222  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

inactivity,  during  which  I  had  leisure  to  digest 
what  I  had  seen,  and  to  prepare  myself  for  what 
might  be  to  come.  Though  the  Nile  flows  out  of 
the  dead  past,  it  is  itself  any  thing  but  lifeless.  The 
current  runs  rapidly;  boats  flit  in  all  directions, 
impelled  by  oar  or  sail;  voices  are  continually 
heard,  in  song,  shout,  and  laughter ;  wild  geese  sit 
on  the  long  sand  strip  or  fly  honking  overhead. 
Cairo,  with  its  silvery  domes  and  minarets,  sinks 
slowly  beneath  the  northern  horizon ;  on  our  left, 
beyond  the  desert,  are  the  notched  hills  of  Mokat- 
tam;  on  our  right,  the  wide  valley,  green  with 
abundant  grain,  beautiful  with  rows  of  palms, 
noisy  with  the  shrill  voices  of  dark -robed  women 
clustered  on  the  banks,  populous  with  mud  vil 
lages  and  squatting,  staring  Arabs.  Here  and 
there  a  sAac/oo/laboriously  irrigates  the  plain,  or, 
higher  up  the  river,  the  creaking  sakia  not  less 
primitively  fulfils  its  office.  The  days  are  a  long 
glory  of  sunshine ;  the  nights,  a  soft  splendor  of 
stars.  We  are  sailing  into  the  earliest  twilight  of 
human  history;  but  earth  and  sky  were  never 
clearer  or  more  bright.  We  lose  all  sense  of  time; 
the  mere  luxury  of  existence  obliterates  it ;  what  is 
a.  lifetime  compared  with  the  immeasurable  ages 


THE   UNSEEN  MAN'S  STORY.  223 

which  gaze  down  upon  us  from  the  margins  of  this 
mighty  stream  ? 

It  was  at  the  close  of  the  first  week  in  January 
of  the  new  year,  that,  coming  on  deck  one  morn 
ing  early,  I  saw  opening  before  me  the  great  valley 
of  Thebes.  It  was  a  splendid  morning — it  seemed 
to  me  even  more  splendid  than  usual.  A  couple  of 
vultures,  sitting  on  the  high  western  bank,  rose  in 
the  air  and  sailed  awray  towards  the  Lybian  hills, 
whose  clear  gray  outline  cut  the  purple  sky.  Were 
they  going  to  seek  for  food  in  the  tombs  there? 
The  plain,  of  vast  extent,  and  green  as  the 
emerald,  is  unequally  divided  by  the  broad,  swift 
running  of  the  Nile;  of  the  ancient  city  nothing  is 
yet  visible;  though,  with  a  good  telescope,  one 
might  perhaps  discern  in  the  southern  distance  the 
forms  of  the  twin  colossi  of  the  Pharaoh  Amunoph, 
and  the  matchless  obelisk  of  Hatasoo  Thothmes. 
Nevertheless,  a  glow  of  memory  and  anticipation 
came  upon  me ;  for  here  was  the  scene  of  a  civiliza 
tion  more  sumptuous  and  earlier  than  any  in 
recorded  history.  For  each  stalk  of  grain  that 
waves  now  in  the  northern  breeze,  there  was  once 
a  living  man,  with  ancestors  before  him  and  a  pos 
terity  to  follow ;  and  the  energy,  power,  and  mag 
nificence  of  their  existence  has  dwarfed  and  made 


224-  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

pallid  all  that  came  after  them.  As  we  continued 
.to  move  slowly  up  the  stream,  the  world-famous 
ruins  loomed  larger  and  more  distinct ;  and  mud 
villages  of  the  present  inhabitants,  clustered  near 
or  upon  these  gigantic  fragments,  \vere  like  the 
nests  of  swallows  under  the  eaves  of  a  cathedral. 
It  seemed  as  if  no  being  of  less  stature  and  ability 
than  Memnon  himself  could  have  hewn  out  and 
piled  together  such  immeasurable  miracles  of  stone. 

I  had  made  my  arrangements  for  a  prolonged 
stay  in  Thebes ;  and  as  inns  are  not  plentiful  in 
that  region,  I  made  a  hotel,  and  a  very  comforta 
ble  one,  of  my  dahaheah.  We  made  fast  near  the 
bank,  close  to  the  temple  of  Luxor,  and  \vhile  I  ate 
my  dinner  Ahmed  Hassan  engaged  in  a  personal 
conflict  with  fifty  or  a  hundred  Arabs,  who  wanted 
to  sell  the  howadji  all  the  spoils  of  Egypt,  from  the 
time  of  Menes,  the  eternal,  down  to  the  latest 
Ptolemy.  Presently  I  came  on  deck,  and  getting 
into  our  boat,  Ahmed  and  I  were  rowed  across  to 
the  western  shore,  where  donkeys  and  more  Arabs 
\vere  awaiting  us,  and  prepared  to  take  a  prelim 
inary  gallop  in  the  direction  of  Karnak,  a  mile  or 
two  down  the  river. 

Among  the  Arabs    I    noticed    one  man,   who, 


THE   UNSEEN  MAN'S   STORY. 


225 


though  with  them,  was  evidently  not  of  them. 

He  was  tall,  and  of  digni 
fied  bearing,  and  his  full 
beard,  which  was  nearly 
white,  fell  down  over  his. 
breast.  His  eyes  were 
blue,  and  very  bright; 
their  glance  was  penetrat 
ing,  but  restless.  His  com 
plexion,  though  tanned 
by  the  sun,  had  been  orig 
inally  fair ;  his  broad  fore 
head  was  partly  concealed 
by  a  white  turban,  and! 
he  \vore  full  Turkish 
trousers  gathered  at  the 
knee,  while  over  his  close- 
fitting  undergarment  was 
thrown  a  flowing  cloak, 
which  he  gathered  about  him  as  he  stood.  In 
spite  of  his  oriental  costume,  however,  I  was  quite 
sure  this  man  was  not  of  Eastern  birth ;  and  the 
manner  in  which  he  had  scrutinized  my  face  and 
appearance  seemed  to  indicate  that  his  interest  in 
me,  if  he  had  any,  wras  of  another  kind  than  would 
be  felt  bv  a  real  son  of  the  desert. 


226  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

"Who  is  that?"  I  inquired  of  Ahmed,  as  we 
jogged  along. 

"He?  Oh,  he  ver  strange  man,  come  here  long 
time,  tink  from  Europe.  Five  year — ten  year — 
allays  see  he;  he  ver  wise — say  he  crazy." 

"What  is  his  name?" 

"Oh,  not  know  right  name;  call  he Kehr-el-Lans 
Effendi.  He  go  much  tomba;  mebbe  hunt  antika; 
but  not  know." 

"Does  he  live  here ?  " 

"Tink  he  live  Temple  Medinet  Abou.  We  go 
bimeby — mebbe  find  he.  Plenty  time  talk  he." 

There  was  an  impression  on  my  mind  that  I 
had  heard  something  about  this  mysterious  per 
sonage  ;  but  it  "was  too  vague  at  the  moment,  to 
enable  me  to  analyze  it ;  and  the  overpowering 
spectacle  of  Karnak  effectually  put  the  matter  out 
of  my  head  for  the  time  being.  But,  a  few  days 
afterward,  we  visited  Medinet  Abou ;  and  while  I 
•was  endeavoring  to  determine,  with  the  aid  of 
Ahmed  and  a  guide  book,  which  portion  of  the 
ruins  was  the  later  work,  and  which  that  of  the 
sister  of  Thothmes,  the  same  dignified  figure  that 
I  had  seen  on  the  river  bank  suddenly  appeared 
from  behind  a  neighboring  column;  and  after 
saluting  me  gravely,  proceeded,  with  much  cour- 


THE   UNSEEN  MAN'S   STORY.  227 

tesy,  and  in  the  French  tongue,  to  enlighten  me  on 
the  question.  It  was  soon  evident  that  he  was 
profoundly  versed  in  the  lore  of  ancient  Egypt; 
and  I  was  particularly  struck  with  his  manner 
when  mentioning  Hatasoo  Thothmes ;  or,  as  he 
called  her,  Queen  Amunuhet.  His  voice,  \vhen  pro 
nouncing  her  name,  was  lowered  to  a  reverential 
murmur ;  and  he  passed  the  palm  of  his  hand  down 
his  face  from  his  forehead  to  his  chin — an  oriental 
gesture  signifying  homage. 

"She  was  a  remarkable  woman,"  I  ventured  to 
observe. 

"There  was  none  like  her,"  hereplied.  "Shehad 
many  subjects,  many  worshipers;  and  one  at 
least,"  he  added,  with  a  sigh,  and  clasping  his 
hands  on  his  heart,  "still  survives,  and  walks  the 
earth  in  the  likeness  of  a  man !  " 

At  this  moment  I  was  visited  by  an  inspiration 
of  memory;  the  recollection  of  my  friend 
Haymaker's  injunction  flashed  over  me.  "Pardon 
me  if  the  question  is  indiscreet,"  I  said,  "but 
have  I  not  the  honor  of  addressing  Monsieur 
Carigliano?  " 

He  bowed  slightly.  "I  once  bore  that  name," 
he  replied.  "But,  for  twenty  years,  since  I  have 
lived  here,  it  has  been  as  a  mask  which  I  have  cast 


228  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

aside.  My  true  name  might,  perhaps,  be  found  on 
one  of  these  stones;  but  it  has  never  been  uttered 
by  living  lips." 

"So this,"  I  thought  to  myself,  "is  Haymaker's 
'charming  old  maniac!'  His  acquaintance  cer 
tainly  seems  to  be  worth  cultivating.  To  hear 
him  talk,  one  would  suppose  he  had  enjoyed  per 
sonal  relations  with  a  princess  who  died  thirty-five 
hundred  years  ago  !  That  is  a  form  of  mania  that 
ought  to  be  enquired  into."  Aloud  I  said,  "I  wish 
I  might  hope  to  enjoy  the  benefit  of  further  inter 
course  with  you.  I  am  deeply  interested  in  all 
that  appertains  to  the  history  of  the  Pharaohs ; 
and  especially,"  I  added,  meeting  his  eyes,  "in  the 
age  of  the  great  Thothmes." 

The  change  of  expression  that  lightened  his  face 
showed  me  that  I  had  touched  a  favorable  chord, 
"It  is  a  long  time,"  he  said,  "since  I  have  held 
converse  with  a  member  of  what  are  called  the 
civilized  races ;  but  I  feel  moved  to  speak  to  you ; 
and,  since  you  express  interest  in  a  matter  nearly 
affecting  me,  it  \vill  give  me  pleasure  to  oblige  you. 
If  you  will  come  to  this  spot  to-morrow  evening 
alone,  I  will  take  you  to  my  abode,  and  do  my  best 
to  give  you  satisfaction."  I  thanked  him  heartily, 
and  promised  to  be  on  hand;  he  bowed,  again 


THE   UNSEEN  MAN'S   STORY.  229 

saluted  me  gravely,  and,  retiring,  was  soon  lost  to 
sight  behind  the  huge,  thickly  planted  columns  of 
the  wondrous  temple. 

When  I  explained  to  Ahmed  the  purport  of  our 
conversation,  he  strongly  advised  me  to  have 
nothing  to  do  with  the  adventure.  He  declared 
that  "  Kehr-el-Lans  Effendi'1  was  a  powerful 
magician,  and  was  quite  capable  of  putting  me 
under  a  spell  and  shutting  me  up  for  a  thousand 
years  in  some  forgotten  tomb  of  the  hills.  He  was 
often  heard  conversing  in  an  unknown  tongue  with 
spectres ;  and  was  suspected  of  kidnapping  the 
babies  of  the  neighboring  poor  people,  and  offering 
them  up  as  sacrifices  to  the  heathen  deities,  whom 
he  was  supposed  to  worship.  At  the  very  least, 
Ahmed  added,  this  redoubtable  wizard  \vould  in 
some  way  compel  me  to  pay  for  my  escape  from 
his  clutches  with  an  immense  sum  of  money.  In 
spite  of  these  warnings,  however,  I  held  to  my  pur 
pose  ;  and  about  sunset  the  next  day,  I  presented 
myself,  alone,  at  the  appointed  spot.  In  a  few 
minutes  Carigliano  made  his  appearance ;  and  I 
followed  him  through  the  ruins  for  a  distance  of  per 
haps  fifty  yards.  I  then  saw  him  stoop,  and  push 
against  a  slab  of  granite,  set  in  an  apparently  solid 
portion  of  the  temple  wall.  It  moved,  as  if  upon  a 


230  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

hidden  pivot,  and  disclosed  a  flight  of  steps  leading" 
downward.  The  darkness  w as  intense ;  and  for  a 
moment  I  hesitated.  Having  come  so  far,  how 
ever,  I  was  determined  to  see  the  end  of  the  adven 
ture,  and  I  accordingly  descended.  I  heard  his- 
footsteps  preceding  me;  and  then  a  light  flashed 
up,  and  I  found  myself  in  a  subterranean  chamber 
which  bore  evidence  of  being  used  as  an  abode.  It 
was  of  fair  height,  and  about  twenty  feet  in  length 
by  fifteen  in  width.  The  wralls  \vere  of  polished 
stone,  engraved  with  pictures  and  hieroglyphics, 
It  contained  a  mattrass,  and  various  simple  but 
sufficient  appliances  of  life.  Everything  was  neat 
and  clean,  and  the  air  \vas  pure,  though  the 
method  of  ventilation  was  not  apparent.  The 
light  proceeded  from  a  large  lamp  of  antique 
design  \vhich  depended  from  the  ceiling. 

Some  cushions  at  the  head  of  the  room  served  as- 
a  divan,  and  upon  this  Carigliano  motioned  me  to- 
be  seated,  w^hile  he  brought  forward  two  long- 
stemmed  pipes,  w^hich  we  lighted  and  smoked.  For 
some  time  our  conversation  was  laconic,  and  on 
indifferent  topics.  But  at  length  my  entertainer 
took  the  pipe  from  his  lips,  fixed  his  eyes  upon  me, 
and  spoke  as  follows : 


THE    UNSEEN  MAN'S   STORY.  231 

"I  have  admitted  you  to  this  chamber,  whither 
no  other  guest  has  ever  penetrated,  not  merely  for 
the  sake  of  gratifying  your  curiosity,  but  because 
the  time  has  come  when — if  ever — the  history  of 
my  life  must  be  unfolded.  To-morrow  it  will  be 
twenty  years  since  the  event  occurred  which 
revealed  to  me  my  destiny ;  and  yours  are  the  last 
mortal  eyes  that  will  behold  me.  Before  I  vanish 
forever,  I  desire  to  leave  some  testimony  behind 
me  as  to  my  past  and  my  future. 

"  I  came  to  Egypt  at  twenty-eight  years  of  age, 
as  an  attache  of  a  scientific  expedition  sent  hereby 
the  French  government.  My  technical  duties  were 
to  decipher  and  to  take  copies  of  the  more  impor 
tant  hieroglyphic  writings  and  inscriptions  in  the 
tombs  and  temples.  But  I  had,  for  a  number  of 
years  previous,  given  my  whole  attention  to  the 
study  of  ancient  Egyptian  subjects,  and  was,  even 
at  that  time,  more  profoundly  versed  than  any 
other  scholar  in  its  problems  and  mysteries.  I  had 
always  felt  an  especial  and  peculiar  inclination 
toward  these  researches ;  it  seemed  to  me  far  more 
like  recalling  \vhat  I  had  once  known,  than  as 
breaking  absolutely  new  ground  in  knowledge. 
The  scenes  and  persons  of  the  days  of  the  Pha 
raohs  \vere  as  vivid  in  my  imagination  as  the 


232  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

memories  of  yesterday;  I  spoke  their  language  and 
I  comprehended  their  wisdom.  And  when,  for  the 
first  time,  I  breathed  the  air  of  the  Nile  valley,  and 
felt  the  sand  of  the  desert  beneath  my  feet,  and 
beheld  the  mighty  monuments  of  a  vanished 
past,  a  voice  in  my  heart  seemed  to  tell  me  that 
this  was  no  foreign  country,  but  my  home. 

' '  It  wras  here  in  Thebes  that  my  duties  chiefly 
lay,  and  it  was  here,  also,  that  the^  mysterious 
home-feeling  was  most  strong.  From  the  first,  I 
needed  no  guide ;  each  step  I  took  was  on  familiar 
ground ;  and  as  I  gazed  over  the  valley  of  ruins, 
some  secret  faculty  of  my  mind  reconstructed  the 
scenes  of  four  thousand  years  ago,  and  I  saw  once 
more  the  splendid  city  throbbing  with  life  and 
sparkling  with  wealth,  and  witnessed  the  triumph 
of  the  kings,  the  processions  and  sacrifices  of  the 
priests,  the  glittering  array  of  the  soldiers,  and  the 
throng  and  tumult  of  the  people.  It  was  awaking 
dream,  but  it  made  the  reality  of  the  present  seem 
unsubstantial.  And  ever  and  anon — especially 
when  sauntering  about  the  ruins  of  this  temple — I 
was  sensible  of  another  feeling:  a  strange  tremor 
and  yearning  of  the  heart,  which  I  could  not  under 
stand,  yet  wrhich,  could  I  have  fathomed  it,  would, 


THE   UNSEEN  MAN'S   STORY.  233 

I  thought,  have  proved  the  key  whereby  all  else 
that  was  perplexing  might  be  unlocked. 

"One  morning  I  arose  early,  and  took  my  sketch 
ing  materials,  intending  to  spend  the  day  in  one  or 
other  of  the  great  tombs  that  honeycomb  the 
western  hills.  A  foot-path  leads  over  the  ridge 
beyond  Medinet  Abou, — a  track  of  powdered  lime 
stone, — and  so,  by  a  steep  descent,  brings  one  to 
the  naked  and  desolate  gorges  beyond,  \vhere  the 
Pharaohs  were  entombed.  On  reaching  the  sum 
mit  of  this  ridge,  I  turned,  and  for  a  few  moments 
gazed  back  on  the  wide  valley  of  the  Egyptian 
capital.  The  sun  had  just  risen;  its  light  flashed 
across  the  long  curve  of  the  Nile,  and  touched  the 
lips  of  Memnon,  as  he  sat  eternal  on  his  throne,  his 
shadow  falling  far  behind  him  over  the  green 
expanse  of  waving  grain  at  his  base.  Involunta 
rily  I  bent  forward,  as  if  to  catch  the  music  of  the 
response  which,  as  tradition  says,  the  colossal 
deity  was  wont  to  make  to  the  salutation  of  the 
sun-god.  And,  in  truth,  a  deep,  melodious  sound 
seemed  to  resound  in  the  air — though  whether  pro 
ceeding  from  Memnon's  lips,  or  from  the  heavens 
above,  or  from  the  depths  of  my  own  breast,  I 
could  not  tell;  a  sound  that  resolved  itself  into 
•words,  saying,  'Pass  on,  thou  favored  one,  and 


234  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

fear  not !  Thy  queen  awaits  thee ! '  And  down  I 
rode  into  the  shadow  and  silence  of  the  abyss  of 
tombs. 

''Threading  my  way  among  loose  bowlders,  and 
down  a  narrow  and  devious  track,  I  reached  the 
bottom  of  the  descent,  and  wound  along  the 
length  of  the  ravine.  It  had  been  my  first  inten 
tion  to  enter  one  of  the  tombs  of  the  kings ;  but  I 
was  impelled  to  press  onward,  and  at  length  I 
entered  another  gorge,  lying  further  toward  the 
heart  of  the  hills,  which,  as  I  knew,  had  been  set 
apart  for  the  interment  of  the  queens  of  Egypt. 
Here,  a  sense  of  solitude  more  profound  than  any 
I  had  before  experienced  came  over  me ;  but  accom 
panying  it,  and  even  arising  out  of  it,  was  a  feeling 
of  being  conducted  and  inspired  by  some  intelli 
gence  or  personality  not  my  own.  I  fell  into  an 
abstracted  mood,  in  which  I  scarcely  noted  the 
way  I  was  going ;  until  at  length  I  came  involun 
tarily  to  a  pause,  and,  as  it  were,  awoke,  and  gazed 
around  me. 

"I  was  in  a  region  so  wild  and  savage,  so  naked 
and  desolate,  that  it  seemed  as  if  no  hum  an  being, 
before  me,  could  ever  have  penetrated  there. 
Rocky  walls,  wholly  devoid  of  vegetation,  arose  on 
each  side,  and  climbed  heavenward,  as  if  they 


THE    UNSEEN  MAN'S   STORY.  235 

would  meet  in  the  depths  of  the  purple  sky.  Loose 
fragments  of  limestone  hung  on  the  ledges  of  the 
precipices,  or  lay  in  confused  masses  on  the  narrow 
floor  of  the  tortuous  valley.  The  sun,  now  some 
hours  high,  flung  its  ^vliite  luster  on  the  western 
walls,  yet  only  the  upper  portion  of  them  was 
illuminated.  No  sign  of  life,  not  even  an  insect  or 
a  bird,  disturbed  the  stillness ;  no  sound  was 
audible  but  the  hoof-tramps  of  the  ass  that  I 
bestrode,  which  were  echoed  in  exaggerated 
volume  from  the  imprisoning  cliffs.  On  my  left 
hand  was  a  vertical  face  of  rock,  the  base  seeming 
to  rest  upon  a  mounded  slope,  composed  of 
detached  and  shattered  blocks.  I  dismounted  and 
clambered  up  this  ascent,  and  then  beheld,  to  my 
surprise,  the  distinct  outlines  of  a  picture  graven 
into  the  limestone.  It  covered  a  space  about  four 
feet  in  length  and  breadth ;  and  from  its  unusual 
situation,  as  well  as  from  its  remarkable  intrinsic 
character,  it  strongly  fixed  my  attention.  It  rep 
resented  the  body  of  a  woman,  apparently  of 
high  rank,  lying  on  a  pallet;  and  as  I  judged  from 
certain  accessories,  about  to  be  prepared  for 
embalming.  But  beside  her  stood  the  figure  of  a 
man  in  soldier's  garb,  who,  with  outstretched 
hand,  seemed  about  to  take  the  woman's  heart 


23(3  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

from  her  bosom.  Some  of  the  details  of  the  picture 
indicated  that  it  dated  back  as  far  as  the  time  of 
Thothmes — the  period  of  the  Hebrew  Exodus; 
and  yet  the  cutting  of  the  lines  was  as  sharp  and 
undefaced  as  if  the  artist  had  but  just  given  the 
finishing  stroke  of  the  chisel. 

"I  lost  no  time  in  setting  up  my  easel,  and,  pre 
paring  to  make  a  careful  copy  of  this  picture,  I  sat 
on  a  detached  fragment  of  stone,  \vith  my  right 
hand  toward  the  face  of  the  cliff;  and  in  drawing 
I  rested  my  hand  on  the  mahl-stick,  the  end  of 
which,  for  convenience,  I  rested  against  the  design 
I  was  copying.  As,  from  time  to  time,  I  had 
occasion  to  alter  the  position  of  my  hand  and  of 
the  mahl-stick,  it  happened  that  its  point  at 
length  rested  upon  that  part  of  the  picture  where 
was  represented  the  heart  of  the  woman  upon  the 
pallet.  At  the  same  moment  I  was  conscious  of  a 
slight  jar,  causing  me  to  make  a  false  stroke;  and 
the  mahl-stick  slipped  from  its  place.  I  looked  up 
and  saw — what  I  had  not  noticed  before — that  the 
entire  surface  of  the  stone  upon  which  the  picture 
was  engraven  was  sunk  some  distance  below  the 
surrounding  surface  of  the  rock.  The  depression 
was  slight,  not  more  than  half  an  inch ;  but  as  I 
looked,  it  became  gradually  deeper  and  }ret  more 


THE   UNSEEN  MAN'S  STORY.  237 

deep ;  it  was  now  two  inches  and  still  increasing. 
In  the  course  of  a  few  minutes,  the  pictured  stone 
had  receded  as  much  as  a  foot,  with  a  steady  but 
slowly  accelerating  movement.  Overcome  with 
wonder,  I  continued  to  gaze  at  this  singular  phe 
nomenon,  until  the  stone  was  nearly  out  of  sight. 
The  direction  it  took  was  slightly  inclined  upward; 
and  I  perceived  that  the  polished  surfaces  upon 
which  it  traveled  were  finely  grooved,  the  grooves 
corresponding  with  ridges  in  the  moving  stone, 
which  fitted  into  the  former. 

"By  this  time  I  had  in  some  degree  recovered  my 
self-possession,  and  resolved  to  pursue  the  investi 
gation  ofthis  marvel.  I  had  brought  a  small  lamp 
with  me,  for  use  in  the  tombs,  and  this  I  now 
lighted,  and  holding  it  in  my  hand,  I  crawled  into 
rthe  cavity  left  by  the  receding  stone.  This  cavity 
was  now  about  ten  feet  in  depth,  the  sides  as 
smooth  as  glass,  and  ascending  at  an  angle  of 
about  twenty  degrees.  But  after  following  it  a 
little  further,  there  was  a  sudden  enlargement  to 
double  the  former  dimensions.  I  was  now  able  to 
stand  upright,  and  to  walk  on  a  passage  beside  the 
moving  stone,  instead  of  following  in  its  track,  as 
heretofore.  It  continued  to  travel  upward  beside 
me;  and  I  now  discovered  that  the  immediate 


238  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

cause  of  its  ascent  was  a  fine  but  strong  cable  of 
bronze,  which  \vas  fastened  to  its  inner  side,  and 
was  being  drawn  inward  by  some  force  beyond. 
The  push  which  I  had  accidentally  given  with  the 
mahl-stick  to  that  particular  spot  in  the  picture 
which  represented  the  woman's  heart,  had  prob 
ably  given  the  impetus  which  set  the  machinery 
in  motion. 

"  After  proceeding  up  the  slippery  incline  for  per 
haps  a  hundred  feet,  I  came  to  a  level  space,  reach 
ing  to  an  unknown  extent  beyond,  above,  and  on 
each  hand.  And  here,  by  the  dusky  light  of  my 
lamp,  I  saw  the  semblance  of  a  human  figure, 
slowly  and  steadily  turning  the  handle  of  a 
machine  resembling  a  windlass,  to  the  body  of 
which  the  bronze  cable  was  attached,  and  around 
which  it  was  being  wound.  The  figure  wore  the  *• 
Egyptian  head-dress  and  garb,  and  his  face  and 
limbs  were  of  a  brown  hue;  but  so  regular  and 
rigid  w^ere  his  movements,  and  so  imperfect  was 
the  light  that  I  could  not  decide  whether  he  w^as 
indeed  a  human  being,  or  only  himself  a  cunningly 
wrought  part  of  the  machine.  I  spoke  to  him  but  he 
returned  no  answer ;  and  my  own  voice  died  away 
in  a  hollow  whisper.  As  I  stood  there,  the  stone 
\vhich  had  closed  the  entrance  to  the  passage 


THE   UNSEEN  MAN'S   STORY.  239 

reached  the  summit  of  the  ascent ;  and  the  figure, 
-after  putting  a  check  in  the  cog  of  his  wheel,  sank 
down  beside  it,  with  his  face  upon  his  knees,  and 


his  hands  clasped  around  his  a.nkles,  and  became 
motionless  in  the  attitude  which,  perhaps,  had 
been  undisturbed  till  now  for  more  than  thirty 
centuries. 


240  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

''Shading  my  lamp  with  my  hand,  I  moved 
along  the  walls  of  the  chamber,  which  lay  trans 
versely  across  the  ascending  passage  by  which  1 
had  come.  It  was  lined  with  white  stucco  on 
which  were  painted  in  brilliant  colors  such  scenes 
of  the  daily  life  and  habits  of  the  Egyptians,  as  are 
customarily  found  on  the  walls  of  tombs.  At 
length  I  came  to  an  opening  nearly  opposite  that 
by  which  I  had  entered;  a  corridor  extending" 
further  into  the  mountain.  After  following  it  for 
awhile,  I  was  brought  to  an  other  corridor  at  right 
angles  to  it,  going  in  both  directions.  I  chose  the 
turn  to  the  left,  and  soon  came  to  another  turn, 
which  descended  for  a  long  distance,  and,  just  as  it 
seemed  to  come  to  an  end,  admitted  me  into  a  hall 
much  larger  than  the  first,  and  more  richly  deco 
rated.  Here  were  represented  the  various  cere 
monies  of  the  dead,  the  liturgies  relating  to  their 
travels  in  the  realm  of  shades,  together  with  astro 
nomical  designs,  and  figures  of  monsters  and  of 
deities.  In  the  center  of  the  room,  moreover,  stood 
a  large  sarcophagus,  richly  engraved  and  orna 
mented,  but  empty.  Here  my  explorations  had 
apparently  come  to  an  end,  for  there  was  no  visible 
outlet  from  the  chamber.  Accustomed  as  I  was, 
however,  to  the  concealments  of  these  gigantic 


THE   UNSEEN  MAN'S   STORY.  241 

excavations,  I  felt  assured  that  the  end  was  not 
yet ;  and  when  I  applied  my  shoulder  to  the  upper 
end  of  the  sarcophagus,  it  yielded  to  the  pressure, 
and  sliding  forward,  disclosed  an  oblong  aperture 
in  the  floor  beneath  it,  into  which  I  unhesitatingly 
descended ;  and  after  wandering  blindly  for  some 
minutes,  first  in  one  direction  and  then  in  another, 
I  discerned  a  gleam  of  light  in  front  of  me,  and,  the 
the  next  moment,  entered  an  apartment  the  solemn 
grandeur  of  which  seemed  a  fitting  culmination  of 
all  that  had  preceded  it. 

"In  the  center  of  the  lofty  ceiling  \vasa represen 
tation  of  the  winged  sun;  and  from  it,  or  through 
it,  proceeded  a  soft  but  powerful  light,  like  that  of 
phosphorescence  in  its  nature,  though  bright 
enough  to  fill  every  corner  of  the  vast  hall  with  a 
clear  radiance.  The  walls  glowed  with  color,  and 
here  were  the  sacred  figures  of  Isis  and  Osiris,  of 
Horus,  of  Athor,  Aimbis,  Ptah,  and  Nofre  Atmos. 
But  these  things  scarcely  impressed  themselves  on 
my  senses,  for  I  was  arrested  by  a  far  greater 
marvel.  The  figures  on  the  walls  \vere  but 
shadows ;  but  the  floor  of  this  mighty  chamber 
was  populous  with  forms  of  concrete  substance ; 
•with  men  and  women  who  breathed  and  moved 
and  lived.  They  lived,  and  yet  it  scarcelv  seemed 

16 


242  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

like  life,  so  slow,  so  almost  imperceptible  were 
their  movements.  It  was  as  if  the  space  of  an 
ordinary  lifetime  had  been  drawn  out,  forthem,  to 
the  measure  of  myriad*  years ;  that  days  were  to 
them  as  moments,  and  years  as  hours,  and  centu 
ries  as  years ;  that  while  the  breath  came  and  went 
through  their  nostrils,  a  moon  might  wax  and 
wane ;  and  that  the  lifting  of  their  faces  was  as 
the  turning  of  the  earth  upon  its  axis.  It  was, 
perhaps,  the  dry,  unchanging  atmosphere  of  this 
region,  hidden  deep  beneath  the  heart  of  the  moun 
tain,  and  separated  from  the  world  without  for  so 
many  hundred  years,  that  had  \vrought  this 
torpor  in  them  ;  I  myself  had  become  already  sen 
sible  of  an  alteration  in  the  beating  of  my  pulse 
and  a  subtle  lethargy  in  my  movements.  At  first, 
as  I  looked  upon  this  strange  assemblage,  they 
seemed  each  one  to  have  paused,  in  the  accomplish 
ment  of  some  characteristic  act.  One  swarthy 
figure  was  shaping  a  necklet  of  gold  brought  from 
the  deadly  mines  of  Ethiopia ;  another,  with  mallet 
uplifted,  was  chiseling  a  statue;  still  another,  held 
in  his  hand  a  scarabseus,  which  he  was  about  to 
polish.  In  another  place,  a  man  was  in  the  act  of 
blowing  glass ;  near  him  was  one  with  colors  and 
a  brush,  making  as  if  to  add  another  touch  to  his 


THE   UNSEEN  MAN'S   STORY.     '  243 

picture;  others  were  in  the  attitude  of  turning  the 
potter's  wheel,  of  breaking  flax,  or  of  playing 
draughts.  In  one  corner  of  the  room  were  a  group 
of  women  seated  on  the  ground,  with  a  ball  which 
they  seemed  about  to  toss  from  one  to  another. 
But,  as  I  contemplated  them,  their  apparent  insen 
sibility  resolved  itself  into  motion,  and  I  saw  that 
they  were  not  carven  images,  but  that  the  hearts 
which  had  begun  to  beat  when  Moses  was  an 
infant,  still  sent  the  blood  through  their  veins, 
though  in  pulses  as  measured  as  the  tides  of  ocean. 
"Meanwhile,  my  presence  was  seemingly 
unnoticed;  no  eye  had  met  mine,  and  I  was  as  appar 
ently  invisible  to  them  as  if  the  abyss  of  ages  that 
lay  between  us  had  been  as  wide  in  space  as  it  was 
in  time.  But,  as  I  paused  near  the  entrance  of  the 
hall,  uncertain  what  to  do,  my  ears  caught  a  faint 
sound  of  solemn  music ;  a  portal  of  stone  at  the 
opposite  extremity  of  the  vista  was  slowly  unfolded 
and  from  it  issued,  \vithlingeringbutmajestic  step, 
SL  stately  procession.  First  came  boys,  bearing 
censers  in  the  form  of  a  golden  arm,  in  the  hollowed 
hand  of  which  burned  fragrant  balls  of  kyphi,  dif 
fusing  a  heavy  perfume.  Then  followed  an  array 
of  tall  and  grave-looking  men  in  white  robes,  and 
wearing  on  their  foreheads  the  sacred  ostrich 


244  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

feather,  emblem  of  truth,  and  sign  of  the  initiated 
priest.  Next  came  a  bevy  of  attendants,  men  and 
women,  brilliantly  attired,  some  carrying  vessels 
of  Phoenician  glass  that  sparkled  in  the  light;  and 
one  who  bore  on  high  and  shook  aloft  the  golden 
sistrum,  with  its  bars  and  rings,  emblem  of  Venus, 
Finally,  borne  in  a  litter  on  the  shoulders  of  twelve 
Nubian  slaves,  appeared  a  woman,  at  the  sight  of 
whom  my  heart  stood  still  and  my  breath  failed 
me.  She  was  dusky  as  the  Nile  at  evening,  and 
beautiful  with  a  beauty  that  belongs  to  the  morn 
ing  of  the  world.  Her  eyes  were  long,  black,  and 
brilliant ;  and  their  gaze  was  royal.  The  outline 
of  her  smooth  cheeks  was  oval,  and  her  features 
were  the  features  of  the  Pharaohs,  but  softened 
with  all  the  loveliness  of  a  woman.  Above  her  low, 
broad  forehead  was  placed  the  stately  head-dress 
of  an  Egyptian  princess ;  and,  from  her  left  temple, 
a  long  black  braid,  plaited  with  golden  threads, 
hung  down  to  her  feet,  as  a  sign  of  her  royal  line 
age.  Her  robe  was  purple,  and  of  a  tissue  so  deli 
cate  that  the  contours  of  her  perfect  form  were 
discernible  through  its  silky  folds.  Round  her 
neck,  and  resting  upon  her  bosom  was  a  broad 
collar  woven  of  pearls  and  precious  stones;  her 
arms  were  encircled  by  bracelets  of  massive  gold, 


THE   UNSEEN  MAN'S   STORY. 


245 


and  in  her  girdle  were  woven  turquoises  from  Ser- 
bal,  talismans  of  good  fortune.  At  her  right  hand 
crouched  a  monkey,  sacred  to  Thoth,  the  god  or 

her  race ;    and 
on   her  left   a 
white     cat 
from  Persia, 


i  n      w  h  o  s  e 
long  silky  fur  the 
slender  fingers  01 
the  princess  were 
hidden. 

hen  the  bearers  of  the 
litter  reached  the  center 
of  the  hall,  beneath  the 
illuminated     semblance     ot 
•inged  sun,  the}'  knelt  and 
y   lowered    their    burden 
floor.     Then,  with  a  lei- 
movement,   the    princess 
ind  stood  erect  to  her  full 
t,    and    her    eyes    slowly 
fixed  themselves  upon  mine, 
for  I  remained  opposite  to 
her,  in  a  vacant  space  alone  ; 


and  a  spell  seemed  to  be  upon  me,  so  that  I  could 


246  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

move  neither  hand  nor  foot,  nor  remove  my  gaze 
from  her  transcendent  countenance ;  yet  it  seemed 
to  me  a  countenance  that  I  had  seen  before,  and 
had  known  well,  and  passionately  loved.  And  it 
seemed  to  me  that  I  was  not  myself,  or  that  a 
truer  self  than  I  had  hitherto  known  looked 
through  my  eyes  and  breathed  through  my 
nostrils. 

"Then  the  princess  spoke,  in  slow  and  measured 
tones,  and  in  the  clear  tongue  of  ancient  Egypt 
that  I  knew  and  remembered  as  mv  own. 

"  '  Man,'  she  said,  'art  thou  he  for  whom  I  have 
waited?' 

"And  I  answered  her,  'I  am  Pantour,  the  son  of 
Amosis.' 

"And  she  said,  'Dost  thoii  know  me?' 

"And  I  answered,  'Thou  art  Amunuhet  the 
queen,  the  sister  of  Pharoah ;  thou  art  she  who 
didst  build  the  temple  and  the  obelisk,  and  didst 
perform  many  might v  works.' 

"And  she  said,  'Speak  on,  Pantour,  and  tell  what 
thou  knowest.' 

"And  I  said,  'O  queen,  I  loved  thee;  and  thou 
didst  deign  to  return  my  love.  And  our  love  -was- 
hidden,  that  none  might  know  it.  And  in  the 
midst  of  our  love  death  came  to  thee.  And  when 


THE   UNSEEN  .MAN'S   STORY.  247 

thy  body  was  prepared  for  the  embalmers,  I  stood 
beside  thee,  and  there  was  none  to  see  me.  And  I 
put  forth  my  hand  and  took  thy  heart  out  of  thy 
bosom  ;  because,  I  said,  "  My  heart  is  hers :  let  me, 
therefore,  keep  her  heart  in  the  stead  of  it."  And 
I  kept  thy  heart,  and  none  knew  what  I  had  done. 
But  when  death  overtook  me  also,  I  called  my 
friend  to  me  and  charged  him,  saying:  "When  I 
am  dead,  take  thou  my  heart  from  my  bosom  and 
put  in  the  place  of  it  the  heart  of  the  Queen  Amun- 
uhet,  whom  I  loved,  but  my  heart  thou  shalt  burn 
upon  the  altar  of  Osiris."  And  he  swore  to  me  to 
do  as  I  had  commanded.  And  in  that  same  hour 
my  spirit  departed.' 

"Then  the  queen  answered,  'Thou  hast  said. 
Hear,  now,  what  things  have  befallen  me.  For, 
when  I  entered  into  Kar-Neter,  Osiris  appeared  to 
me,  and  mine  eyes  were  dazzled,  and  my  limbs  were 
as  if  without  life ;  neither  could  I  speak,  or  eat 
food,  or  do  battle  with  my  enemies.  But  I  prayed 
to  the  gods,  and  behold,  my  strength  returned  to 
me ;  and  holding  the  sacred  beetle  above  my  head, 
I  entered  into  Hades.  Then  did  Typhon  assail  me 
with  many  monsters,  and  I  fought  sore  combats 
\vith  them ;  and  I  had  been  overcome,  but  that 
Nir  gave  me  to  eat  of  the  tree  of  life,  and  the 


248  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

Divine  Light  instructed  me.  So  I  went  on,  and 
passed  through  many  changes,  and  at  last  I 
entered  once  more  into  the  body  from  which  I  had 
gone  forth  ;  and  then,  undergoing  many  trials  and 
temptations,  I  sailed  down  the  river  that  flows 
under  the  foundations  of  the  world,  and  gained  the 
Elysian  fields.  Then  was  I  brought  to  the  great 
judgment  hall,  wrhere  sat  Osiris  and  the  two  and 
forty  assessors,  and  to  them  I  confessed  both  my 
evil  and  my  good.  But  when  they  brought  the 
scales  of  justice,  with  the  ostrich  feather  of  truth 
in  the  balance,  and  would  have  weighed  my  heart 
against  the  ostrich  feather,  behold  the  heart  was 
gone  out  of  my  bosom.  Then  the  judges  took  counsel 
together  and  said,  "Thou  shalt  wait  three  thou 
sand  years,  and  half  a  thousand  years,  and  he 
who  took  thy  heart  from  thee  shall  come  before 
thee;  and  if  he  will  deliver  ituptothee  again,  thou 
shalt  enter  into  the  bliss  of  Osiris."  Now,  there 
fore,  the  time  is  come.  Deliver  back  to  me  that 
which  thou  didst  take  from  me;  and  when  thou 
hast  fulfilled  thy  course,  and  conquered  Typhon, 
and  overcome  temptations,  thou  shalt  afterward 
be  united  to  me  in  the  kingdom  of  Osiris,  and  the 
bliss  of  us  twain  shall  be  unto  everlasting.' 
"Thus  spake  the  Queen  Amunuhet;  and  when 


THE   UNSEEN   MAN'S   STORY.  249 

she  had  made  an  end  of  speaking,  she  sat  on  her 
throne,  and  waved  her  hand  to  the  chief  of  priests, 
that  he  should  take  me,  and  lay  me  on  the  altar, 
and  pluck  her  heart  out  of  my  breast.  But  then 
great  fear  came  upon  me,  insomuch  that  I  turned 
and  fled  away  from  before  her.  My  limbs  were  as 
though  sheathed  in  lead,  and  though  I  strove 
mightily,  my  steps  were  slow,  for  the  air  of  the 
tomb  had  entered  into  my  lungs,  and  all  power  of 
swiftness  was  gone  from  me.  But  the  chief  of  the 
priests,  and  the  other  priests,  and  the  attendants, 
pursued  me;  and  though  their  steps  also  were 
slow,  yet,  by  reason  of  the  air  that  had  entered 
the  tomb  irom  the  outer  \vorld,  they  gathered  ever 
new  strength  and  swiftness ;  so  that  it  seemed  as 
if  I  must  be  taken.  Nevertheless,  striving  with  all 
my  might,  I  gained  the  upper  platform  where  sat 
he  who  worked  upon  the  windlass  that  lifted  the 
stone  from  the  entrance ;  and  even  then  the  hands 
of  my  pursuers  were  upon  me.  And  he  of  the  wind 
lass  arose,  and  loosed  the  check  from  the  wheel, 
and  the  great  stone  slid  down  the  incline  toward 
its  place.  But  I  also  plunged  downward,  and 
came  in  front  of  the  stone  as  it  descended,  and  was 
swept  out  before  it,  and  the  entrance  was  closed 
•behind  me;  and  I  fell,  and  knew  no  more." 


250  six  CENT  SAM'S 

Here  Carigliano  paused,  and  bending  forward  as 
he  sat,  hid  his  face  upon  his  knees.  During  several 
minutes  there  was  silence;  for  he  had  spoken 
toward  the  close  in  a  strain  of  exalted  earnestness 
and  passion ;  and  the  spell  of  his  words  was  upon 
me.  No  doubt,  the  man  must  be  mad ;  but  his  hal 
lucination  was  so  remarkable,  and  his  expression, 
of  it  so  eloquent  that,  for  the  time  being,  I  could 
not  regain  the  equilibrium  of  my  judgment. 

"It  was  a  narrow  escape!  "  I  said,  at  last. 

He  sat  erect,  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead, 
and  sighed.  "It  was  a  dastardty  escape!"  he 
replied;  "and  for  these  twenty  years  past  I  have 
repented  it.  I  \vas  found  that  evening  by  some 
wrandering  Arab,  and  taken  back  to  Luxor.  For 
some  weeks  I  was  ill  with  a  fever;  when  I  recov 
ered,  I  tried  in  vain  to  find  again  the  pictured 
stone;  I  have  never  set  eyes  upon  it  since.  But, 
after  a  year  of  fruitless  quest,  Queen  Amunuhet 
came  tome  one  night  in  a  dream,  and  told  me  that 
if,  after  waiting  twenty  years,  I  was  prepared  to 
make  the  restitution  that  she  had  demanded  of 
me,  the  place  of  her  tomb  should  be  once  more 
revealed  to  me,  and  I  might  enter  in  and  deliver 
myself  up  to  the  altar.  To-morrow  the  period  of 
trial  will  be  fulfilled,  and  I  shall  be  seen  of  men  no 


THE   UNSKKN    MAN  S   STORY. 


251 


more.  You  are  the  last  to  hear  my  voice,  and  to 
look  upon  my  face.  Henceforth,  Pantour,  the  son 
of  Amosis,  belongs  to  the  dead  alone." 

Soon  after  I  returned  to  America,  my  friend  Hay 
maker  and  I  dined  at  Delmonico's;  but  I  paid  for 
the  dinner. 


"By  the  way,"  he  exclaimed,  as  we  sat  over  our 
coffee,  "did  you  ever  run  across  that  fellow 
Carigliano?" 

"Yes,  "I  replied. 

"Charming  old  maniac,  isn't  he?"continued  my 
friend. 

"He  was  a  remarkable  person,  certainly." 

"  I  think  of  running  over  to  Egypt  next  winter, 
and  I  will  make  a  point  of  looking  him  up  again," 
said  Haymaker,  lighting  a  cigar. 

"You  won't  find  him,"  I  answered.  "The  day 
after  I  last  saw  him  he  disappeared,  and  has  never 


252  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

been  seen  or  heard  of  since.  But,  from  certain  indi 
cations,  it  was  thought  he  had  wandered  into  the 
ruins  of  the  tombs  of  the  queens;  probably  he 
found  his  way  into  one  of  them  and  never  got  out 
again.  He  had  related  some  of  his  history  to  me 
the  day  before ;  and  certain  hints  that  he  let  fall 
have  made  me  suspect  that  he  had  a  foreshadow 
ing  of  what  was  to  befall  him." 

"Poor  fellow,"  said  Haymaker.  "  What  a  pity ! 
Romantic,  too !  Told  you  his  story,  did  he  ?  What 
was  it?" 

"It's  eleven  o'clock,"  said  I;  "I'm  going  to 
bed." 

"Or  you  might  write  it  out,"  continued  my 
friend,  as  we  put  on  our  hats.  "You're  always 
writing  things ;  and  I  dare  say  you  might  find 
somebody  to  print  it." 


"I  like  a  good  ghost  story,"  remarked  Sam; 
"  and  this  was  one  of  a  rather  uncommon  kind." 

"It  certainly  was,"  replied  the  author.  "I  was 
not  aware  that  ghosts  remained  in  good  condition 
so  long  as  three  thousand  years." 

"Philosophers  tell  us,"  put  in  a  plump,  swarthy 
gentleman  of  about  five  and  thirty  years,  seated 


THE   SYMPOSIUM.  253 

next  but  one  to  the  captain,  "that  time  has  no 
existence  in  the  spiritual  world ;  and  we  read  in  the 
good  Book  that  '  A  thousand  years  are  but  as  yes 
terday.'  As  this  is  a  time  for  stories,  I  would  like 
to  tell  you  of  a  little  experience  of  my  own  that 
goes  to  show  that  three  thousand  years  is  by  no 
means  the  remotest  date  in  matters  of  this  kind." 

"Go  ahead,  sir,"  said  Sam;  "I  dare  say,  for  my 
part,  that  a  ghost  is  like  good  wine — the  older  the 
better." 

Thus  encouraged,  the  swarthy  gentleman  unbur 
dened  his  mind  in  this  manner : 


:254 


SIX   CENT    SAM  S. 


THE    SWARTHY    MAN'S    STORY. 

HE    peculiar    conditions    of    my 
birth    probably    accounted  for 
my  exceptional  organization. 
It  was  a  long  time  before 
I  realized  this,  or  that 
r  I  was  different  from  oth 
ers.     This  ignorance  on 

\ 

my  part  occasioned  me  a 
;reat  deal  of  perplexity,  and 
doubtless  led  others  to 
believe  that  I  was  unbal- 
•\  anced  in  my  mind.  When 
I  happened  to  speak  about 
things  that  were  as  familiar 
to  my  apprehension  as 
chairs  and  tables  \vere  to 
the  vulgar,  they  stared,  and 
either  shook  their  heads  ominously,  or  laughed. 
This  lack  of  sympathy  surprised  and  hurt  me,  and, 
in  the  end,  made  me  hold  my  tongue  and  keep 
aloof  from  them.  But  although  I  felt  myself  a 
Pariah,  I  did  not  comprehend  the  reason  of  it.  I 
imagined  it  must  be  because  I  was  ugly,  or,  in 


THE   SWARTHY    MAN'S   STORY.  255 

some  way,  disagreeable.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I 
was  far  from  being  an  ill-favored  boy,  and  my 
manners  were  quiet  and  conciliating. 

I  have  no  personal  recollection  of  my  mother. 
Her  temperament  was  characterized  by  the  obscure 
affection  known  to  pathology  as  hysteria.  Names 
are  useful,  but  they  seldom  explain  anything.  On 
the  contrary,  they  often  delude  us  into  fancying 
that  we  understand  things  that  are  really  a  mys 
tery  to  us.  As  regards  my  mother,  I  might  say 
that  her  normal  condition  was  what  is  commonly 
known  as  an  abnormal  one ;  in  other  words,  more 
than  half  her  life  was  spent  in  the  state  of  trance. 
Her  story  was  about  as  strange  a  one  as  my  own; 
but  it  is  the  latter  only  that  I  am  now  to  relate. 
I  will  only  say  that  it  was  during  one  of  her  pro 
longed  trances  that  I  came  into  the  world;  and 
that  \vhen,  some  days  or  weeks  afterward,  she 
"  awoke,"  as  it  is  called,  she  did  not  know  her  own 
infant.  Thereafter,  my  father  kept  her  almost  con 
tinually  entranced ;  and  in  that  condition,  a  year 
later,  she  expired. 

As  for  my  father,  he  was,  so  far  as  my  "knowl 
edge  of  him  goes,  a  man  of  brains.  With  a  few 
modifications  in  his  organization,  he  would  have 
been  a  great  man  of  science.  But  these  were  lack- 


256  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

ing — or  shall  I  say  he  rose  above  them  ? — and  he 
became  a  mystic.  He  studied  the  spirit,  and  its 
connection  with  the  body.  He  sought  the  final 
analysis  of  matter,  and  hew  to  control  it ;  time 
and  space  were  to  him  subjective  conditions  of  the 
mind  concretely  interpreted.  I  did  not  know  until 
long  afterward,  the  extent  of  his  researches  and 
attainments.  He  conversed  with  me  but  seldom,, 
and  never  011  those  topics.  He  was,  of  course, 
aware  of  mv  exceptional  congenital  powers,  but  I 
am  not  sure  that  he  ever  made  use  of  them  for  his: 
own  ends.  His  manner  was  habitually  cold,  and 
it  never  occurred  to  me  that  he  felt  any  affection 
for  me.  And  yet  I  am  sure,  now,  that  he  must 
have  done  so.  Perhaps  he  foresaw  that  the  culti 
vation  of  my  strange  faculty  could  bring  me  only 
unhappiness,  and  therefore  forbore  to  encourage 
me  in  it,  although  the  forbearance  cost  him  much 
information  that  he  \vould  have  valued.  But 
nature  will  have  its  way,  and  I  found  my  fate  in 
spite  of  his  restraint. 

He  died  while  I  was  on  the  boundary  between 
boyhood  and  manhood.  He  left  me  a  sufficient 
fortune,  and  a  library  which,  though  not  very 
large,  was  worth  to  one  who  knew  how  to  use  it 
its  weight  in  gold.  I  did  not  know  how  to  use  it ;. 


THE   SWARTHY    MAN'S   STORY.  257 

at  all  events,  I  never  examined  it,  or  informed 
myself  even  as  to  the  titles  of  the  volumes.  The 
only  books  I  cared  to  read  were  \vorks  of  fiction, 
narratives  of  travel  and  adventure,  and  treatises 
on  history  and  astronomy.  Music  and  poetrvalso 
gave  me  intense  pleasure,  though,  as  regards 
music,  my  taste  could  not  be  called  conventional. 
I  most  enjoyed  the  simplest  harmonies;  and  I  am 
disposed  to  think  that  I  was  able  to  hear  sounds 
that  are  inaudible  to  most  people.  For  instance, 
there  is  a  distinct  and  exquisite  music  produced  by 
alternate  sunshine  and  shadow  drifting  across  the 
meadows,  on  a  day  when  the  sky  is  peopled  with 
masses  of  white  cloud ;  and,  of  summer  evenings, 
the  precipitation  of  dew  is  accompanied  by  a  sub 
tle  sound,  rising  and  falling  like  the  strains  of  an 
^Eolian  harp,  but,  of  course,  infinitely  more  refined 
than  that.  I  could  mention  many  similar  exam 
ples.  And  this  sensitiveness  of  hearing  was  accom 
panied  by  a  corresponding  acuteness  of  vision. 
Not  that  I  could  see  to  a  greater  distance,  or 
detect  more  minute  objects  than  the  average  of 
persons,  but  I  plainly  perceived  things  -which  were 
as  invisible  to  the  telescope  and  microscope  as  to 
the  ordinary  unassisted  ej^esight. 

This  faculty,  however,  varied  in  me  exceedingly; 


258 


six  CENT  SAM'S. 


if  my  mind  were  disturbed  or  I  were  suffering  from 
any   physical  disorder,  it    almost  ceased  to   act. 

^«J*v- 

Bvit,  in  a  serene  mood,  I  have 
seen  waves  of  color,  of  hue 
and  intensity  varying  with 


the  note  and  the 
position,      pro 
ceeding    from 
the    vibrating 
strings    of    a 
harp       or 
w  a  k  i  n  g 
confirmed 
most    who 
mesmeric 
sons     are 
ored     ema- 
formableto 
But  this  is 
while  conversing 
observing:      him 


r 

violin ;    and    my 
sight  has  constantly 
the  fact,  familiar  to 
have  experienced  the 
trance,  that  all  per 
surrounded  by  a  col 
nation  or  sphere,  con 
their  several  natures. 
not  all.      Sometimes, 
with     a     man,     or 
quietly,   I  have    seen 
besides  him.    I  knew 
ures  to  be  immaterial, 


other  figures 
these  fig- 
but  it  would  be 
impossible  to  say  by  what  signs  I  was  able  to  dis 
tinguish  them  from  concrete  persons.  There  were 


THE   SWARTHY    MAN'S   STORY.  259 

generally  four  of  the  spiritual  forms  attached  to 
each  individual;  and  there  was  a  strong  resem 
blance  on  their  part  to  him  with  whom  they  were 
associated.     The  man  himself  never  appeared  con 
scious   of  their  presence;  but  I  noticed  that  both 
his  sayings  and  his  actions  were  indirectly  inspired 
by  these  attendants,    though    he    possessed   the 
power  of  choosing  which  pair  of  them  he  would  be 
prompted  by — whether  by  the  evil  pair  or  the  good. 
These  phenomena,  familiar  to  me  as  they  were 
from  my  childhood    up,   never,   so  far    as  I  can 
remember,     occasioned    me    any    surprise;    thev 
seemed      altogether      natural      and     reasonable, 
although,  as    I    have    already    remarked,   I  soon 
found  that  no   one  else  experienced  them,  and  I 
therefore  ceased  to  make  any  allusion  to  them. 
After  my  father's  death,  I  continued  to  live  in  the 
same  house,  and  went  very  little  into  society.    I 
passed  my  time  in  reading  and  meditation,  and  in 
taking  solitary   walks.     I  had  long  been  aware 
(without  paying  special  attention  to  the  fact,  or 
reflecting  upon  its  significance)  that  I  often  lapsed 
into  a  state  which  I  could  only  compare  to  that  of 
dreaming.  .  It  differed  from  that,  however,  in  sev 
eral  essential    respects.      The  scenes  and  persons 
which  I  beheld  in  these  states  were  evidently  real, 


2GO  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

though  I  was  not,  as  to  my  corporeal  self,  present 
in  them.  How,  then,  did  I  see  them? 

Had  I  been  asked  that  question  at  the  time,  I 
should  have  answered,  simply,  that  I  saw  them. 
Ordinary  sight  is  a  mystery  as  to  its  essence ;  and 
this  further  sight  of  mine  seemed  to  me  neither 
more  nor  less  mysterious.  I  had  never  heard  the 
word  clairvoyance,  and  it  "would  have  explained 
nothing,  if  I  had.  At  all  events,  not  a  day  passed 
without  my  observing  things  that  existed  and 
occurrences  that  happened  far  away  from  where 
my  body  was.  How  far  away  they  were  I  did  not 
know;  nor,  indeed,  did  I  at  first  realize  that  the 
things  and  persons  were  as  real  as  those  that 
immediately  surrounded  me.  That  discovery  came 
later,  as  I  shall  presently  describe.  A  peculiarity 
of  my  clairvO3rance  was,  that  it  did  not  involve,  as 
generally  is  the  case,  a  suspension  of  my  external 
consciousness.  I  saw,  as  it  were,  with  the  bodily 
and  the  mental  eye  at  the  same  time.  Nor  did  this 
lead,  as  you  might  suppose  it  would,  to  any  con 
fusion  between  the  two  sights.  I  could  always 
clearly  distinguish  between  the  normal  and  the 
abnormal  vision;  though  I  could  not  have  made 
anyone  understand  how  I  did  it. 

So  time  slipped  away,  until  I  was  twenty-three 


THE   SWARTHY    MAN'S   STORY.  261 

years  old.  It  was  at  that  age  that  I  became 
acquainted  with  Virginia  Graham.  She  was  a 
handsome  girl,  tall,  with  black  eves  and  hair,  and 
a  clear  white  skin.  Her  father  was  a  Scotchman 
by  birth ;  he  was  a  ship  owner,  and  had  been  a  sea 
captain.  They  lived  about  ten  miles  from  my 
home;  but  my  father  had  been  acquainted  with 
them  in  former  years,  and  my  own  subsequent 
knowledge  of  them  was  therefore  in  the  nature  of 
a  renewal  of  friendship.  We  met  at  a  picnic;  an 
annual  merry-making  that  came  off  every  Michael 
mas.  It  was  the  first  that  I  had  attended ;  and  I 
believe  that  the  same  was  true  of  Virginia.  I  was 
accosted  by  the  captain,  who  spoke  of  his  previous 
acquaintance  with  Professor  Markham  (my 
father)  and  introduced  me  to  Virginia.  I  talked 
with  her  all  the  afternoon.  She  affected  me  in  a 
•manner  entirely  novel  to  me.  It  was  no  fancy  on  my 
part ;  I  could  not  be  mistaken  in  her.  The  clair 
voyant  power  that  I  possessed  enabled  me  to 
divine  at  once  her  true  character,  which  was  pure 
and  noble  to  a  degree  that  I  had  never  seen  sur 
passed  in  woman.  What  may  have  been  her 
impression  of  me  I  knew  not,  nor  did  I  speculate 
about  it.  It  was  happiness  to  be  with  her,  and 
that  was  enough  for  me. 


262 


SIX   CENT   SAM  S. 


We  parted  at  length,  and  they  drove  away;  I  set 
out  homeward  on  foot,  being  an  active  and  tireless 
walker.  As  might  be  expected,  my  thoughts  were 
busy  with  Virginia ;  and  presently  I  found  myself 
with  her  again.  That  is,  I  saw  her  driving  along 
the  moonlit  road  with  her 

thev 


ap- 
the  sea- 


father,   and 
I     were  now 
preaching 

port  town 

where  they 
lived.     I  had 

never  been  in  this  town  ;  but    / 
all  its  features  \vere  distinctly 
present  to  me.     I  saw  the  car 
riage  turn  into  the  main  street, 
and  stop  at  a  large  house  on 
the  corner.  It  \vas  a  house  with 
a  hip-roof,  and  abroad  veranda 
with   vines    twining    over   it, 
and  an  old-fashioned  arched 
doorway.    Virginia  alighted, 
and  ran  up  the  steps;    the 
door    opened,    and   she  en 
tered,    while    her    father    drove 
round  to  the  stables.   Virginia  went  into  the  dining 


THE   SWARTHY    MjiN'S   STORY.  263 

room,  which  faced  toward  the  east,  and  remained 
a  few  minutes ;  then  she  mounted  the  stairs  to  her 
bed  chamber  to  remove  her  wraps.  At  this  moment 
the  \vhole  scene  vanished,  and  I  was  on  the  lonely 
road,  with  my  shadow  moving  beside  me  in  the 
moonlight. 

It  was  then,  for  the  first  time,  that  the  singular 
ity  of  the  affair  struck  me.  I  had  actually  been 
with  her,  when  nevertheless  she  was  miles  away  in 
an  opposite  direction.  It  was  no  dream,  nor  even 
a  vision.  I  halted  in  my  tracks,  and  gazed  about 
me.  Had  I  been  with  her,  indeed  ?  Could  I  be  in 
two  places  at  once  ? 

" Certainly  I  can,"  I  answered  myself.  "The 
mind  is  free,  and  what  is  man  but  mind  ?  His 
mind  can  travel  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  while  his 
body  remains  at  home.  It  is  the  mind  that  gives 
life  and  perception  to  the  senses ;  therefore  life  and 
perception  exist,  not  in  the  senses,  but  in  the  mind 
itself.  Wherever  it  goes,  then,  it  must  take  its  per 
ceptions  with  it.  It  is  only  reasonable." 

I  walked  on  again,  and  my  thoughts  took 
another  turn.  "  If  I  have  seen  her  thus  to-night," 
I  said,  "what  is  to  hinder  my  seeing  her  whenever 
I  choose  ?  It  is  true  that  she  will  not  be  aware  of 
my  presence ;  but  I  shall  be  the  more  free  to  con- 


264  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

template  her  without  interruption.  I  have  only 
to  wish  to  behold  her,  and  I  shall  do  so." 

Here,  however,  I  found  myself  in  error.  I 
attempted  to  transport  myself  to  her  once  more, 
but  in  vain.  I  \vas  powerless  to  repeat  the  expe 
rience.  The  condition  w  as  evidently  an  in  voluntary 
one,  or  at  any  rate  subject  to  laws  which  I  had  not 
yet  mastered.  But  it  did  not  follo\v  from  that 
that  I  might  not  learn  to  control  it.  I  resolved  to 
set  about  doing  so  without  delay. 

I  met  with  only  partial  success  in  my  efforts. 
Sometimes,  by  fixing  my  thoughts  upon  Virginia 
for  a  long  while,  persistently,  I  attained  to  see  her, 
more  or  less  distinctly,  and  only  so  long  as  I  could 
keep  my  will  at  its  full  tension.  At  other  times, 
when  I  least  expected  it,  I  was  with  her;  and  these 
occasions  were  much  the  more  satisfactory  of  the 
two.  I  could  not  full\r  solve  the  problem,  ponder 
it  how  I  wrould.  I  had  in  the  meanwhile  paid  sev 
eral  visits  to  the  Grahams,  and  had  convinced 
myself  that  my  clairvoyance  had  not  deceived  me ; 
everything  about  the  town  and  house  was  as  I  had 
found  it  in  my  vision.  These  visits  also  strength 
ened  the  affection  I  had  conceived  for  Virginia; 
and  I  had  reason  to  think  that  she  fully  returned 
the  feeling.  Her  face  brightened  when  I  came  near 


THE   SWARTHY   MAN'S   STORY. 


265 


her,  and  our  lives  seemed  to  support  and  illumi 
nate  each  other.  As  long  as  we  were  together  all 
was  right  and  harmonious;  troubles  and  annoy 
ances  only  came  when  we  were  apart. 

One  day  I  went  into  my  father's  library.  It  was 
a  place  I  rarely  visited.  It  was  in  almost  the  same 
condition  as  when  he  was  alive, 
large  desk-table  at  which  he  used 
reading  or  writing,  stood  between 
windows.  Notebooks  and  sheets 
manuscript  were  upon  it,  methodic 
ally  arranged,  for  my  father  had 
been  a  model  of  order  and  precision. 
There  were  his  pens,  pencils,  and 
mathematical  instruments,  ready 


placed  for  the  hand  that  now  was  dust;  the  dia 
grams,  the  celestial  globes,  the  volume  of  astrolog 
ical  calculations — all  the  paraphernalia  of  the  stu 
dent  of  hidden  things.  A  thin  gray  dust  lay  over 


266  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

these  things,  like  the  impalpable  ashes  of  a 
vanished  life.  The  chair  in  which  he  used  to  sit 
was  pushed  a  little  away  from  the  table,  as  if  he 
had  just  arisen  out  of  it.  It  was  upholstered  in 
brown  leather,  much  worn,  but  still  sound ;  it  was 
broad-seated,  roomy,  and  comfortable.  I  threw 
myself  down  in  it,  and  thought  of  the  man  who 
had  transmitted  to  me  the  mysterious  thread  of 
life;  so  easily  broken,  so  indestructible.  As  I  sat 
there,  his  influence  seemed  to  be  upon  me,  and  I 
understood  him  as  I  had  never  before  done.  The 
interests  and  aims  which  had  controlled  his  life 
became,  for  the  time  being,  a  stimulus  to  my  own. 

The  walls  of  the  room  were  lined  ceiling-high 
with  broad  shelves,  in  which  were  stored  the  rows 
of  ancient  volumes,  bound  in  brown  leather  and 
white  parchment,  over  the  pages  of  which  he  had 
pored  so  deeply.  But  a  small  revolving  bookstand 
stood  within  reach  of  the  chair,  and  in  this  were 
kept  the  works  in  which  he  was  more  especially 
interested,  or  which  he  was  at  the  moment  con 
sulting.  I  stretched  forth  my  hand,  and  took  out 
the  one  which  came  first. 

It  proved  to  be  a  sort  of  digest  or  history  of  the 
phenomena  of  second-sight,  followed  by  an  attempt 
to  elucidate  the  philosophy  of  the  matter.  Some 


THE   SWARTHY   MAN'S  STORY.  267 

» 

statements  that  recalled  my  own  experience  caught 
my  eye;  I  read  on,  and  continued  to  read,  hour 
after  hour,  until  the  increasing  twilight  deepened 
over  the  last  page. 

From  that  day,  I  became  as  assiduous  a  student 
as  my  father  had  been  before  me,  and  of  the  same 
books.  I  learned  many  things  that  enabled  me  to 
understand  my  own  condition,  and  its  relation  to 
the  normal  state.  I  read,  too,  a  number  of  volumes 
treating  of  the  esoteric  features  of  the  Buddhistic 
faith,  and  their  theory  of  life  and  vocation.  Much 
of  their  tenets  took  a  strong  hold  upon  me,  partic 
ularly  the  doctrines  relative  to  the  spiral  of  human 
existence,  its  periodic  returns  to  activity  and 
intervals  of  repose,  and  its  final  reabsorption  into 
the  universal  life.  This  knowledge  affected  me  like 
a  reminiscence.  I  seemed  to  have  known  it  before. 
I  felt  that  I  had  indeed  had  a  previous  -existence, 
somewhere,  at  some  time.  Where  and  when?  Was 
there  no  closed  volume  of  the  memory  that  con 
tained  the  story  of  that  remote  epoch,  and  which 
(did  one  but  know  the  secret  of  that  lock)  might 
be  opened  and  perused  to-day?  Meanwhile  it 
became  evident  to  me  that  clairvo\rance — the  gen 
uine  form  of  which  is  among  the  rarest  of  human 
gifts — was  susceptible  of  far  greater  development 


:26S  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

than  it  had  yet  received,  at  least  among  western 
races ;  and  I  resolved  to  set  about  its  cultivation 
in  a  systematic  and,  so  to  say,  scientific  manner.  I 
carried  out  this  resolution  with  a  perseverence 
and  diligence  that  left  me  no  opportunity  to  do  or 
think  of  any  thing  else.  Even  Virginia  was  neglected 
for  the  time  being,  though  my  not  seeing  her  was 
partly  due  to  the  fact  that  she  had  accompanied 
her  father  on  a  visit  to  the  metropolis,  upwards  of 
a  hundred  miles  distant.  But  everything  seemed 
to  me  of  secondary  importance  compared  \vith 
the  power  I  aimed  at,  which  was  nothingelse  than 
to  be  able  to  transport  myself,  so  far  as  my  per 
ceptions  were  concerned,  to  any  point  in  space 
that  I  chose,  and  at  any  moment  that  suited  me. 

My  success  in  some  instances  was  so  great  as  to 
nearly  satisfy  me;  but  in  others,  when  the  con 
ditions  were  apparently  the  same,  I  entirely  failed. 
For  a  long  time  I  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  the 
reason  of  this  discrepancy.  The  explanation,  how 
ever,  was  simple  enough,  when  once  it  occurred  to 
me.  In  the  metaphysical  world — the  sphere  oi 
thought  and  emotion — thought  is  presence.  I  am 
mentally  in  the  society  of  the  person  upon  whom 
my  thoughts  are  fixed.  But  there  is  an  indispen 
sable  requisite  here:  and  that  is  sympathy.  The 


THE   SWARTHY    MAN'S   STORY.  269 

travels  of  the  clairvoyant  depend  upon  his  sym 
pathy  with  the  human  beings  whom  he  would 
visit.  Sympathy,  in  this  connection,  is  to  be  under 
stood  in  the  broader  sense  of  the  word ;  it  may  be 
an  affinity  of  liking,  or  of  repulsion.  The  man  or 
\voman  I  hated  may  attract  me  as  strongly  as 
those  I  love.  I  now  understood  the  cause  of  mv 

J 

failures.  I  attempted  to  go  to — to  be  mentally 
present  in — places  where  there  was,  so  to  speak, 
no  place  for  me.  Such  a  transmigration  wrould 
only  be  possible  to  the  clairvoyant  who  was  con 
trolled  by  some  other  will  than  his  own,  and  with 
other  affiliations  than  his.  But  I  was  my  own  sole 
agent  in  the  matter.  My  journeys,  though  not 
limited  as  to  distance,  were  circumscribed  to  some 
extent  in  direction.  I  had  attempted,  in  some  of 
my  experiments,  to  leave  the  boundaries  of  this 
planet,  and  penetrate  the  secrets  of  other  earths 
in  the  universe ;  but  I  had  never  been  able  to  effect 
a  landing  on  those  wondrous  shores.  This  had 
greatly  disappointed  me,  but  the  reason  of  it  was 
no  longer  obscure.  Those  worlds  are,  indeed, 
doubtless  inhabited  by  human  beings ;  but  in  the 
infinite  scheme  of  creation,  there  is  room  for  infinite 
variety,  but  no  duplicate.  The  people  of  each  of 
the  planets  present  a  phase  of  humanity  differing 


270  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

in  some  vital  respect  from  one  another,  and  from 
us.  Therefore  the  spirit  from  this  earth  cannot 
come  into  communication  with  them.  Hereafter, 
perhaps,  when  the  depths  and  mysteries  of  our 
natures  are  more  fully  comprehended  and  revealed, 
we  may  find  our  way  to  these  enigmatical  brethren 
of  ours,  and  study  from  them  new  lessons  in  the 
inexhaustible  volume  of  being. 

At  this  time  I  happened  upon  a  new  discovery, 
which  put  my  disappointments  out  of  my  head. 
It  grew  out  of  some  of  my  researches  in  esoteric 
Buddhism.  The  Buddhists  hold  that  there  is  an 
inner  plane  of  being,  to  which  they  give  the  name 
of  the  "Astral  Light."  Upon  it  are  projected  the 
living  shadows  or  pictures  of  all  that  mankind  has 
experienced  since  the  creation.  The  eye  which  is 
opened  to  this  plane  can  see  the  occurrences  of  the 
past  enacted  before  his  eyes  by  the  phantoms  of  the 
beings  who  took  part  in  them.  These  beings  have 
a  kind  of  life  of  their  own,  which  can  be  stimulated 
by  the  sympathy  and  interest  of  the  mortal  specta 
tor. 

One  evening  1  \vent  into  a  deeper  trance  than 
usual.  I  had  been  traveling,  without  any  special 
destination  in  view,  from  point  to  point,  and  at 
last  found  myself  hovering  above  the  ocean,  which 


THE   SWARTHY   MAN'S   STORY. 


271 


•was  slumbering  in  a  profound  calm.  Space,  liter 
ally  considered,  does  not  exist  in  the  clairvoyant 
state;  change  of  place  varies  with  the  mental  con 
dition.  My  mind  had  been  in  a  vague  and  unsat 
isfied  mood,  and  I  had  allowed  it  to  follow  out  its 
vagaries  without  muchattcn  ,<-^Ntion  to  them.  I 
only  retained  a  general  impresY^  I  sion  that  I  had 


paths  of 
and  had 


strayed  far  from  my  usual 

contemplation, 

followed  an    erratic  and 

unfamiliar    course.     I  had 

been  thinking  less  of  persons 

places  than  of  nature  in  the  ab 

and    so,    at  last,    on    looking 

I  saw  only  a  silent  sea,  bound 

and  unruffled  by  any  breeze.    No 

sign  ofhuman  life,  was  in  sight.  It 

before  the  dawn;  overhead  were 

some  of  the  larger  stars  of  the  Southern  constella 

tions. 

For  a  considerable  time  I  remained  motionless 
in  the  midst  of  the  great  stillness,  with  a  sensation 
of  gradually  retiring,  as  it  were,  into  the  innermost 
recesses  of  consciousness.  It  seemed  to  me  that,  if 
this  process  continued,  I  should  end  by  vanishing 
out  of  life  altogether.  I  was  conscious  of  a  slow 


and 
'stract ; 
around    me, 
ed  by  no  shore 
ship,  nor  any 
was  the  dusk 
still    visible 


272  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

revolving  movement,  winding  downward  in  a 
spiral.  It  was  evidently  subjective,  and  was 
attended  by  a  highly  agreeable  feeling.  The  spiral 
became  smaller  and  smaller;  at  last  it  seemed  to 
diminish  to  a  mathematical  point.  On  passing 
through  that  point,  I  ceased,  for  a  time,  to  be  con 
scious  of  any  sensation  whatever. 

When  I  came  to  myself,  I  was  standing  on  a  low 
promontory,  overlooking  the  sea.  Behind  me  was 
a  forest,  composed  of  strange  vegetable  growths, 
with  which  I  was  not  familiar.  They  had  the 
height  of  ordinary  forest  trees,  but  were  of  a  dif 
ferent  character ;  more  in  the  semblance  of  huge 
weeds  and  rank  grasses.  The  soil  on  which  I  stood 
was  thin,  and  much  mingled  with  mosses ;  faces  of 
rock,  overgrown  with  lichens,  showed  through  it 
here  and  there.  The  air  was  heavy  and  warm, 
and  the  sun,  which  had  newly  arisen,  appeared  red 
and  large,  through  thick  veils  of  watery  vapor. 

On  the  seaward  slope  of  the  promontory,  barely 
a  hundred  yards  from  where  I  stood,  appeared  a 
small,  pyramidal  structure,  which  looked  black 
against  the  eastern  light.  I  took  it  to  be  a  little 
cairn  of  stone ;  at  all  events,  it  must  be  the  work 
of  human  hands,  and  I  approached  it.  As  I  went 
near,  I  perceived  that  it  was  not  a  cairn,  but  some- 


THE  SWARTHY    MAN'S  STORY. 


273 


thing  in  the  nature  of  a  rude  wigwam.  It  was 
made  of  skins,  stretched  upon  a  scaffolding  of 
stakes,  leaning  together  in  an  apex.  Could  it  be 
inhabited  ?  I  moved  toward  the  right,  and  thus 
my  gaze  encountered  a  human  figure,  seated 
on  the  ground  before  the  entrance  of  the  wig- 
warn. 

The  figure  was  naked  to  the  waist ;  the 
lower  part  was  covered  with  the  soft  fur 
mal.     Black  hair,  of 
nary       thickness 
and     luxuriance, 
fell  on  the  shoul 
ders    and  down 
the    back ;    the 
flesh    was 
of      the 


hue  of  fine  bronze,  clear  and  polished.     The  back 
was  turned  toward  me ;    but  after  a  moment  the 


274  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

position  was  altered  a  little,  revealing  the  swell 
ing  curves  of  the  bosom,  and  I  saw  that  it  was  a 
woman. 

She  was  engaged  in  moulding  into  shape  the 
head  of  a  flint  axe.  The  tools  she  was  using  \vere 
also  of  stone,  and  the  \vorkmanship  was  rude. 
But  she  labored  diligently  and  deftly  and  hummed 
a  sort  of  chant  to  herself  the  while,  that  was  like 
a  concentration  and  rhythmical  arrangement  of 
the  sounds  of  nature — the  soughing  of  winds,  the 
tinkle  of  waves,  the  moan  of  wild  beasts,  the 
warble  of  birds,  the  rush  of  the  rain;  but  pervad 
ing  and  dominating  all,  a  strong  and  sweet  human 
note  of  emotion  and  love.  No  other  music  ever 
sounded  like  it  in  my  ears ;  it  seemed  to  reach  the 
love  of  life,  and  interpret  the  secret  of  it.  It  was 
a  human  heart,  at  one  with  nature,  uttering 
nature's  word. 

But  when  I  saw  her  face,  I  forgot  everything 
else.  It  was  beautiful,  but  not  like  the  faces  of  the 
women  of  our  time.  There  was  a  lovely  wildness 
in  it,  but  it  was  not  the  savage  wildness  of  the 
Indian.  It  was  innocent,  tender,  impassioned, 
glowing  with  the  fire  of  abounding  life ;  in  purity 
an  infant,  in  feeling  and  development  a  woman. 
Such  eyes  as  hers  no  living  being  had  ever  beheld. 


THE   SWARTHY   MAN'S   STORY.  275 

They  were  black  as  night,  }-et  clear  as  dawn  upon 
the  mountains :  their  glance  sank  into  the  soul, 
but  they  opened  the  way  to  the  soul  that  lived 
behind  them.  Her  lips  were  full,  and  modeled  in 
curves  of  natural  eloquence,  so  that  their  move 
ment,  even  without  audible  speech,  conveyed 
innumerable  shades  of  meaning.  In  every  physi 
cal  feature  she  had  the  ideal  symmetry  of  a  Grecian 
goddess;  and  in  her  bearing  was  the  wild  and 
gentle  freedom  of  one  who  had  never  known  fear, 
falsehood,  or  reproach. 

Who  was  she,  and  where  was  she  ?  What  land 
was  this  she  lived  in  ?  And  why  did  I  feel  this 
invincible  attraction  toward  her,  so  strong  as  to 
be  almost  terrible?  Surely  it  could  not  be  love,  for 
I  loved  Virginia.  And  yet,  it  must  be  love,  and  not 
only  love,  but  absolute  slavery — a  feeling  that  we 
belonged  to  each  other,  body  and  soul ;  that  we 
•were  inextricably  and  irrevocably  one,  and  that, 
whatever  other  ties  we  might  form,  this  tie  bet  ween 
us  was  prior  and  superior.  The  conviction  of  this 
did  not  dawn  upon  me  slowly ;  it  came  at  once.  It 
was  an  absolute  and  immediate  identification  of 
myself  with  her ;  we  had  the  same  soul.  What 
did  it  mean  ?  It  did  not  give  me  happiness,  but  it 
bore  down  all  opposition.  I  could  no  more  strug- 


270  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

gle  against  it  than  I  could  separate  myself  from 
myself. 

The  remains  of  several  animals  killed  in  the  chase 
were  lying  near  at  hand.  But  thev  were  all  unfa 
miliar  to  me ;  they  were  not  species  that  inhabit 
the  earth  now-a-days.  The  vast  head  of  yonder 
bear;  the  gigantic  antlers  of  the  elk;  the  enor 
mous  curve  of  those  tusks,  with  woolly  hide 
attached  to  them ;  those  other  remains,  half 
marine,  half  terrestrial,  and  monstrous  and  gro 
tesque.  I  had  seen  relics  of  such  creatures  in  the  fossil 
specimens  of  museums,  but  never  in  life.  And 
what  was  the  interpretation  of  these  stone  imple 
ments,  this  strange  forest,  this  dense  atmosphere^ 
this  desolate  coast  ? 

The  truth  came  upon  me  with  a  shock.  I  had 
roamed  backward  into  the  early  twilight  of  the 
human  race.  This  woman  had  lived  and  died  ten 
thousand — perhaps  a  hundred  thousand  years  ago. 
She  was  a  phantom  of  the  Astral  Light.  And  she 
had  thrown  over  me  a  spell  of  absolute  possession. 

Needless  to  say,  I  was  invisible  to  her.  Across 
that  gulf  of  ages,  of  what  avail  to  reach?  Besides 
this  that  I  beheld  was  but  a  shadow;  she  who  had 
cast  the  shadow  had  passed  on,  and  was  now, 
perhaps,  inhabiting  another  body,  under  condi- 


THE   SWARTHY    MAN'S  STORY.  277 

tions  utterly  different.  In  the  endless  succession  of 
incarnations,  her  soul  had  hidden  itself,  I  knew  not 
where.  Only,  wherever  it  was,  that  soul  must 
belong  to  me,  and  I  to  her. 

But  how  could  I  hope  to  trace  her  through  the 
ages  ?  She  lived,  she  died,  she  entered  into  that 
abode  of  dreaming  souls  that  the  Buddhists  name 
"Devachan;"  and  thence,  after  thousands  of 
years  of  repose,  she  issued  forth  once  more,  to 
assume  another  body,  and  dwell  in  another  envi 
ronment.  Could  I  find  her  there  ? 

Surely  no  conception  so  wild  ever  visited  a 
human  brain !  To  return  along  the  path  of  buried 
centuries,  seeking  not  only  a  point  in  time,  but  an 
individual  among  all  the  countless  myriads  who  had 
lived  and  loved  since  the  beginning  of  human  exist 
ence  on  this  planet !  Moreover,  her  second  incar 
nation  might  already  have  occurred,  and  the  grave 
once  more  have  closed  over  her;  or,  again,  she 
might  still  be  slumbering  in  Devachan  and  her 
reappearance  among  men  might  not  be  for  ages 
yet  to  come. 

I  recognized  the  power  of  these  considerations ; 
and  yet,  in  spite  of  them,  I  dared  to  believe  that 
such  a  search  might  be  successful ;  but  the  ground 
upon  which  I  based  this  hope  was  simply  the 


278  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

power  of  the  overwhelming  attraction  I  felt  for 
her,  and  which,  I  thought,  could  not  but  be 
returned.  I  seemed  to  have  known  her  from  the 
beginning  of  time,  and  now,  in  the  vast  intervening 
period,  to  have  relinquished  my  grasp  of  the  inte 
rior  chord  that  bound  us  to  each  other.  I  must 
have  been  near  her  when  she  first  lived;  and  by  the 
law  of  psychical  sympathy,  I  must  also  have 
remained  near  her  ever  since;  and  Avherever  she 
was  now,  there  must  I  be  also,  and  in  relations 
with  her  the  most  intimate.  She  was  not  to  be 
sought  for,  then,  in  distant  lands,  or  in  the  past  or 
the  future ;  but  now  and  here — within  reach,  as  it 
were,  of  my  outstretched  arm.  And  yet — where  was 
she? 

She  was  not  Virginia,  of  that  I  was  convinced. 
The  influence  was  an  entirely  different  one.  And, 
powerful  as  it  was,  it  did  not,  strange  to  say, 
diminish  or  interfere  with  my  love  for  Virginia. 
Rather,  my  love  for  Virginia  seemed  to  make  this 
woman  only  the  more  undeniably  mine.  The  two 
loves  did  not  antagonize,  but  cemented  each  other ; 
and  I  fancied  that  Virginia's  love  for  me  was  as 
great  as  or  greater  than  my  own,  although  of 
another  kind.  I  could  not  explain  this  impression, 
or  reconcile  it  with  anv  known  laws  of  human 


THE   SWARTHY   MAN'S   STORY. 


279 


association ;  but  neither  could  I  doubt  its  truth. 
She  and  I  and  Virginia  were  parts  of  one  whole, 
and  could  never  enjoy  full  happiness  save  in  a 
common  union.  Who  was  she,  then? 


I  looked  again.  On 
with  a  man  seated  in 
ing  himself  to 
by  means  of 
\vake    ap 
and  neck 
sin 
and 


the  sea,  I  saw  a  boat, 
it;        he  was  propell- 
ward  the  shore 
a  paddle.    In  his 
peared  the  head 
of  a 


terrible  animal.  It  was  formed,  in  its  upper  parts, 
somewhat  like  a  huge  serpent ;  but,  from  the  way 
the  water  broke  against  its  shoulders,  and  from 
the  plashing  of  his  webbed  claws,  I  perceived  that 
it  partook  of  another  nature.  It  was  hideous  and 
formidable  beyond  description,  and  of  enormous 
size.  It  was  gaining  rapidly  upon  the  man  in  the 
canoe;  but  he  was  now  so  near  the  shore,  that 
there  seemed  a  possibility  he  would  escape.  I 


280  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

\vould  have  given  my  right  hand  to  help  him ;  but 
what  could  I  do  ? 

But  the  woman  had  seen,  also,  and  she  was  not 
idle.  She  leaped  to  her  feet  with  the  lightness  of  a 
bird,  at  the  same  time  snatching  from  the  ground 
a  bow  and  arrow.  Then  she  sprang  forward 
toward  the  shore,  fitting  the  arrow  to  the  string. 
She  reached  the  margin  of  the  sea  just  as  the  beast 
overtook  the  man. 

With  one  of  its  claws  it  struck  the  stern  of  the 
canoe,  smashing  it  to  fragments.  The  man  was 
thrown  into  the  water.  He  had  in  his  hand  a 
spear ;  the  head,  of  chiseled  flint,  fast  bound  to  a 
shaft  of  tough  and  elastic  wood.  He  turned  in  the 
water,  and  made  a  desperate  thrust  upward  at  his 
enemy.  The  point  entered  the  beast's  body 
beneath  the  left  shoulder,  and  there  broke  off.  At 
the  same  moment  the  creature  made  a  lunge  at  him, 
shattering  his  arm,  and  tearing  open  his  right 
side.  He  floated  helplessly  in  the  water,  and 
I  expected  to  see  him  torn  in  pieces  in  another 
instant. 

But  the  woman,  \vith  her  black  hair  flying  about 
her,  had  halted  knee-deep  in  the  water,  and  drawn 
her  arrow  to  the  head.  It  flashed  through  the  air, 
and  penetrated  the  monster's  eye.  With  a  roar  of 


THE   SWARTHY    MAN'S   STORY.  281 

agony,  blind  and  infuriated,  he  lashed  the  sea  with 
his  tail  and  arms,  and  stretched  his  fearful  head 
hither  and  thither,  seeking  his  victim.  But  the 
woman  had  swam  out  to  the  man,  and  thrown 
her  arms  tenderly  about  him,  and  drawn  him  to 
the  shore  in  safety.  Then  she  lifted  him,  holding 
him  to  her  bosom,  and  hastened  up  the  declivity ; 
and,  panting  deeply,  laid  him  down  on  a  couch  of 
skins  within  the  wigwam. 

He  was  dying,  and  the  end  was  near.  When  she 
had  done  all  that  could  be  done  to  relieve  him,  she 
sat  beside  him  in  silence,  with  one  of  his  hands  in 
hers.  Their  eyes  met  in  a  long  gaze.  I  perceived, 
by  my  natural  insight  into  their  minds,  that  they 
were  husband  and  wife,  and  that  they  were  still  in 
the  early  days  of  their  union.  But  the  long  part 
ing  was  at  hand,  and  both  knew  it. 

It  was  singular  that  I  felt  no  jealousy  of  the  love 
which  the  woman  bore  the  man,  though  I  knew  it 
to  be  the  utmost  love  of  her  heart,  and  to  be  the 
love  that  lasts  beyond  the  grave.  So  far  from 
that,  I  identified  myself  with  that  love,  and  felt 
in  no  way  defrauded  by  it.  I,  too,  loved  him, 
though  wherefore  I  knew  not. 

Presently  she  spoke  to  him.  I  understood  what 
she  said,  though  the  words  were  such  as  no  man, 


282  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

who  has  lived  since  history  was  written,  has 
heard.  But  my  perception  passed  beneath  the 
sound,  and  comprehended  the  meaning. 

"Do  you  leave  me  alone  forever?  "she  asked. 
"Tell  me,  if  you  may;  for  has  it  not  been  said 
that,  in  the  hour  of  death,  the  departing  soul  sees 
what  is  to  come  revealed  before  his  eyes ;  and,  for 
that  one  hour,  is  given  to  know  the  future  course 
of  his  destiny?  Tell  me,  therefore,  0  beloved!  and 
spare  not  the  truth,  out  of  pity  for  my  loneliness!" 

The  dying  man  gathered  together  the  strength 
that  remained  to  him.  He  was  a  magnificent 
creature,  made  in  the  finest  mould  of  manhood ; 
and  his  features  had  the  same  impressive  innocence 
of  expression,  mingled  with  nobility  and  passion, 
that  I  had  noticed  in  the  woman.  And,  as  I  con 
templated  him,  methought  that  he,  too,  was  not 
unfamiliar  to  me.  Was  it  because  his  face,  with 
hers,  embraced  the  human  types  which  had  been 
multiplied  since  their  day,  and  therefore  bore,  to 
each  one  who  looked  upon  them,  the  likeness  of  a 
dearest  friend  ?  or  was  it  a  more  real  and  individ 
ual  resemblance?  I  could  not  tell;  but,  that  I 
knew  him  and  loved  him  I  doubted  not. 

"Beloved,"  he  answered  at  last,  in  a  voice  that 
was  as  faint  as  a  whisper,  which  she  bent  to  hear, 


THE   SWARTHY   MAN'S   STORY.  283 

and  which  I  heard,  as  it  were,  through  her  ears, 
"Beloved,  our  parting  shall  not  be  forever.  God 
hath  joined  us,  and  our  union  shall  never  be 
broken.  After  the  long  rest,  we  shall  live  again, 
and  live  together.  But  it  shall  not  be  as  we  are 
now." 

"Shall  I  not  always  be  your  \vife,  and  you  my 
husband?" 

"Our  bodies,"  he  replied,  "are  made  either  male 
or  female,  and,  as  they  are  made,  so  do  they  live, 
and  so  perish.  But  the  life  of  the  soul  is  not  so 
limited.  It  has  in  it  the  male,  and  also  the  female ; 
and,  in  the  course  of  its  journey,  it  takes  on  the 
bodily  garment,  first  of  the  one  and  then  of  the 
other.  So  it  shall  come  to  pass,  when  you  and  I 
next  meet  in  the  flesh,  you  shall  be  the  man,  and  I 
the  woman ;  and  we  shall  have  traversed  the  cir 
cle  of  human  existence,  and  know  no  other  separa 
tion  forever." 

"But  shall  we  know  each  other  when  we  meet 
thus  attired?"  she  demanded. 

"  Truly  we  shall,"  was  his  reply,  "  and,  moreover1, 
a  sign  shall  be  given  you.  For  when  that  far  dis 
tant  time  comes,  that  we  go  forth  upon  the  earth 
once  more,  power  shall  be  bestowed  upon  you 
(being  then  in  the  guise  of  a  man)  to  look  back 


284 


six  CENT  SAM'S. 


into  the  past,  and  to  behold  what  happened  there 
as  if  it  were  still  in  being.  And  at  that  time  you 
shall  behold  yourself  and  me  as  we  now  are ;  and 
in  the  woman  you  shall  know  yourself  as  you  first 
were;  and  in  me,  the  woman  whom  you  then  love. 
So  shall  you  be  assured  that  the  wife  that  you 
shall  have  chosen  is  no  mere  companion  of  an 
earthly  lifetime,  but  was  the  help-mate  appointed 
unto  you  from  the  beginning,  and  who  shall  abide 
with  you,  world  everlasting." 

As  his  voice  died  away,  the  scene  grew  dim  before 
my  eyes,  and  faded  out  of  sight.  All  was  darkness 
and  silence  around  me,  and  I  knew  no  more. 

When  I  came  to  myself,  I  saw  Virginia's  face 
bending  over  ,  (  |  me.  I  had  been  ill  for  many 

mind  clouded  with  the 
delirium.  At  first, 
I  recollected 
nothing  clearly 
of  my  strange 
experience ;  but, 
by  little  and  lit 
tle,  it  came  back 
to  me. 

Was  it  a  reality,  or  but  a  moribund  phantom  of 
the  imagination,  in  which  were  presented,  as  in  a 


THE   SYMPOSIUM.  285' 

parable,  the  problems  of  self  love,  and  of  the  love 
for  another  than  self?  I  know  not,  nor  does  it 
greatly  matter.  If  the  woman  of  that  primeval 
epoch  \vere  indeed  myself,  and  if  the  man  were 
indeed  Virginia,  or  if  both  were  but  symbols  of 
abstract  truth,  certain  it  is,  at  all  events,  that 
never  was  there  a  truer  marriage  than  that 
between  Virginia  and  me.  I  like  to  think  that  we 
have  been  together  since  the  morning  of  time ;  but 
it  needs  not  that  to  assure  me  that  our  union  is 
for  everlasting.  Together  we  form  the  complete 
human  creature,  as  the  Creator  destined  it  to  be. 
The  abnormal  powers  which  I  had  possessed, 
and  which,  upon  the  whole,  had  been  more  of  a 
bane  than  a  blessing,  did  not  survive  my  illness. 
When  I  recovered  my  health,  I  discovered  that 
clairvoyance,  and  all  its  attendant  marvels,  were, 
for  me,  things  of  the  past.  I  have  never  regretted 
the  loss  of  them.  When  I  look  in  my  wife's  face,  I 
see  there  a  deeper  mystery,  and  a  more  precious 
possession  than  clairvoyance  can  ever  reveal  or 
bestow — the  mystery  and  the  possession  of  perfect 

love. 

*      *      * 

"I'm  inclined  to  the  belief,"  said  a  red-headed 
gentleman  opposite,  in  a  voice  \vhich  made  me  sus- 


286  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

pect  that  he  might  be  a  representative  of  the  Green 
Isle  across  the  ocean,  "that  all  phenomena  of  this 
character  may  be  referred  to  the  principle  of  hypno 
sis.  The  moment  we  have  reduced  certain  portions 
of  the  brain  to  a  quiescent  state,  there's  nothing 
that  mayn't  happen.  Past,  present  and  future 
get  mixed  up  till  you  can't  tell  one  from  the  other. 
A  man  loses  \vhat  we  call  his  individuality,  and 
becomes  somebody  else;  the  limitations  of  space 
are  modified  or  obliterated;  and  the  physical  senses 
are  replaced  by  a  sort  of  universal  perception 
which  seems  to  act  independently  of  the  ordinary 
vibrations." 

"It  strikes  me,  sir,"  I  ventured  to  remark,  "that 
your  explanation  is  not  so  much  an  explanation 
as  a  restatement  of  the  same  old  mystery.  In  order 
really  to  account  for  these  hypnotic  phenomena, 
we  must  be  able  to  say  what  the  brain  really  is, 
and  that  involves  giving  a  definition  of  matter, 
and  indeed  of  the  philosophy  of  creation  itself." 

"Well,  man  is  a  creature  of  language,"  replied 
the  red-headed  gentleman,  good-naturedly,  "and 
we're  bound  to  give  things  names  as  fast  as  they 
turn  up,  the  same  as  Father  Adam  named  the 
beasts  of  the  field  and  the  birds  of  the  air  in  the 
Garden  of  Eden,  before  you  and  I  were  born.  I'm 


THE   SYMPOSIUM.  287 

a  graduate  of  Dublin  University,  sir,  and  went 
through  the  usual  courses;  but  I'm  free  to  admit 
that  the  definition  of  matter  and  the  philosophy 
of  creation  had  not  been  subjected  to  scientific 
analysis  at  the  time  of  my  sojourn  there.  We 
advance  ,. by  degrees,  sir;  we  don't  get  to  the 
end  of  the  journey  till  we've  been  over  all  of  the 
intermediate  points.  Hypnosis  is  a  good  enough 
word  to  conjure  with  while  we're  waiting  for  some 
genius  to  give  us  another ;  and  if  you  and  the  com 
pany  are  agreeable,  I'd  like  to  tell  you  a  bit  of  a 
tale  of  something  that  took  place  not  long  since  in 
my  own  country,  and  concerning  which,  I  may  say 
beforehand  that  I  was  personally  acquainted  with 
two  of  the  persons  in  it;  and  nice  people  they  are, 
too,  and  are  now  living  in  health  and  prosperity, 
God  bless  'em,  not  far  from  where  we  are  sitting." 
There  was  a  general  murmur  of  agreeable  antici 
pation,  and  the  red-headed  gentleman,  having 
rubbed  his  hands  upward  through  his  hair,  by  way 
of  creating  the  electricity  of  inspiration,  put  his 
thumbs  in  the  armholes  of  his  waistcoat,  directed 
his  eyes  toward  the  cornice,  and  related  this 
strange  story : 


288 


SIX    CENT   SAM'S. 


THE  IRISHMAN'S  STORY. 

EW  people  are  aware  of 
the  existence  of  a  small 
hostelry  near  Slyne 
Head,  on  the  \yest  coast 
of  Ireland.  The  coal- 
black  rocks  and  precip 
itous  promontories  ot 
that  desolate  region  render  the  scenery  imposing ; 
and  the  storms,  which  are  frequent,  form  a  specta 
cle  that  is  nothing  less  than  magnificent.  The 
\vhole  force  of  the  Atlantic  breaks  against  those 
awful  cliffs,  and  the  half-wild  inhabitants  of  the 
region  will  tell  you  that,  in  winter,  the  spray  is 
sometimes  dashed  three  hundred  feet  in  the  air. 
Fishing  is  almost  the  sole  occupation  of  the 
natives.  The  nearest  railway  station  is  at  West- 
port,  thirty  miles  away,  whence  the  explorer  must 
travel  either  on  foot  or  upon  the  dilapidated 
"jaunting-car"  that  serves  as  a  stage,  and  is 
driven  by  Pat  Maguire,  who  is  also  the  proprietor 
of  the  inn.  But  explorers  are  as  few  as  sno\vflakes 
in  June ;  and  for  several  years  previous  to  the  date 
of  this  story,  Dr.  Griffith  Gramery  had  been  the 
only  visitor. 


THE  IRISHMAN'S  STOKY.  289 

The  doctor  was  not  a  comely  man.  He  had  a 
big,  square  head,  covered  with  grizzled  red  hair, 
which  stood  upright ;  thick  eyebrow's  hanging  far- 
down  over  a  pair  of  small  but  extraordinarily 
piercing  eyes;  a  large  nose  and  mouth,  and  a 
broad,  short  chin.  His  head  was  set  low  down 
upon  broad  shoulders;  his  arms  were  long,  but 
his  body  rather  small  and  short.  The  peasants 
held  him  in  superstitious  awe  and  respect,  believing 
him  to  be  in  league  \vith  Satan,  probably  because 
he  had  once  or  twice  exercised  upon  them  a 
remarkable  magnetizing  power  that  he  possessed. 
But  as  all  his  dealings  \vith  them  had  been  benefi 
cent,  they  mingled  their  awe  with  affection.  A  man 
may  be  hand-in-glove  \vith  the  Evil  One,  and  yet  a 
very  good  fellow  at  tottom. 

This  season,  Dr.  Gramery  arrived,  as  usual, 
about  the  first  of  October ;  but  he  explained  to  Pat 
Maguire  that  a  young  lady  and  gentleman, 
friends  of  his,  would  come  on  the  seventh  of  the 
month,  and  would  expect  Pat  to  be  at  Westport 
railway  station  to  drive  them  over.  The  doctor, 
it  seems,  had  met  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Roger  Mowbray 
in  London  during  the  previous  season,  and  had 
sung  the  praises  of  Slyne  Head  so  eloquently  that 
the  young  couple  —  they  were  in  their  honeymoon 


290 


SIX   CENT   SAM  S. 


—  had  promised  to  come  over  and  spend  a  week 
.    i       there.    They  proved  as 
good    as  their  word, 
and  on  the  evening 
of  the  appointed 
day  they  drove 
up  on  the  jaunt- 
ing-car,    and 
were    cordially 
welcomed  at 
the     inn 
door 

-        tne 

doctor. 

The  moon  was 
close  to  the  full, 
and  the  air  soft  and  mild.  After  supper  the  three 
friends  strolled  out  on  the  cliffs  ;  and  Roger 
Mowbray  and  his  wife  both  confessed  that  they 
had  never  seen  so  grand  a  sight.  The  rocks  are 
full  of  caves,  some  midway  in  the  face  of  inac 
cessible  precipices,  some  so  low  down  as  to  be 
covered  at  high-water.  The  coast  is  everywhere 
jagged  and  irregular.  Slyne  Head  itself  is  a  bee 
tling  pinnacle  of  rock,  overhanging  its  base,  which 
is  four  hundred  feet  below  its  summit.  The  party 


THE  IRISHMAN'S  STORY.  291 

made  their  way  thither  and  sat  down  to  con 
template  the  prospect.  The  ocean,  rising  in  its 
vast  sweejD  to  the  horizon,  was  luminous  beneath 
the  moon;  and  where  the  surf  broke  on  the 
ragged  teeth  of  the  rocks  far  below  it  looked  like 
great  drifts  of  snow  against  the  blackness. 

"How  glorious  and  terrible  it  is!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Mowbray.  "After  this,  I  can  understand 
and  almost  believe  in  all  the  legends  of  ghosts  and 
hobgoblins  that  Ireland  is  famous  for!" 

"None  but  spirits  of  light  and  loveliness  should 
become  visible  to  you,  fair  lady,"  said  the  doctor, 
who  had  a  courtly,  chivalrous  way  with  women, 
which,  partly  on  account  of  the  odd  contrast  with 
his  ugliness  and  eccentricity,  made  him  a  favorite 
\vith  the  sex.  "But  the  people  hereabouts  are  cer 
tainly  very  superstitious ;  and,  to  confess  the 
truth,  I  have  occasionally  amused  myself  by  play 
ing  off  a  few  juggleries  upon  them.  They  take  me 
for  a  magician  ;  and  it  keeps  them  from  bothering 
me  when  I  want  to  be  undisturbed.  I  have  only 
to  make  a  few  cabalistic  passes,  and  they  run  as  if 
the  devil  were  alter  them." 

"I  recollect  your  alluding,  in  London,  to  your 
powers  in  that  direction,"  observed  Roger.  "You 
promised  to  give  us  an  illustration  some  time. 


292  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

What  more  fitting  time  could  there  be  than  this?'* 

"  Oh,  I  wish  you  would,  Dr.  Gramery !"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Mowbray.  "I  never  saw  anything  of  that 
sort." 

"And  I  fancy  your  husband  doubts  whether  any 
body  ever  saw  anything  of  the  sort,"  returned  the 
doctor,  laughing,  and  fixing  his  brilliant  eyes  on 
the  young  man's  face.  "  He  is  a  skeptic." 

"Say  an  agnostic,"  rejoined  Roger,  with  a  smile. 
"I  will  believe  \vhat  I  see." 

"If  that  be  your  only  stipulation,  I  could  easily 
astonish  you,"  the  doctor  answered.  "The  eye 
sight  and  all  the  senses  are  readily  deceived. 
Moreover,  unless  I  am  much  mistaken,  yours  is  a 
temperament  that  lends  itself  to  such  impressions. 
I  should  expect  to  be  more  successful  in  deceiving 
you  than  your  \vife;  though  she  looks  half  a 
spirit  already,  wrhile  you  have  the  thews  and 
sinews  of  an  athlete." 

"Well,  all  I  can  say  is,  I  am  prepared  for  the 
test,"  replied  Roger,  still  smiling,  though  \vith 
somewhat  of  an  effort.  The  doctor's  eyes  had  a 
singular  sparkle.  It  was  difficult  to  look  away 
from  them. 

For  a  full  minute,  the  doctor  remained  silent  and 
immovable,  gazing  in  a  preoccupied  manner  at 


THE  IRISHMAN'S  STORY. 


293 


Roger  Mowbray,  who  gazed  back  at  him.  Mrs. 
Mowbray,  meanwhile,  had  become  interested  in 
watching  the  flight  of  a  great  sea- 
bird,  which,  after  poising  itself  in  the 
air  on  a  level  with  their  posi 
tion,  suddenly  swooped 
ward,  and  alighted  on 
rock,  surrounded  by  waves, 
near  the  foot  of  the  cliff. 
"  Look  at  me!"  abruptly^ 
cried  the  doctor, 
in  a  sharp,  im-.,| 
periotis  tone, 
springing  t 
his  feet.  "I  am 
going  to  jump" 
down  the  preci-  -JilL 
pice,  and  stand  *8J| 


beside  that  s 
f  o  w  1  .      Look! 
Roger    Mowbray, 
I'm  off." 

Roger  started  up  with  a 
gasp  of  horror  and  amaze 
ment.     "Good  God!  the  man  is  killed!"  he  cried 
out  in  a  wild  tone.     He  stood  gazing  fearfully  and 


294  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

breathlessly  over  the  cliff,  peering  downward  as  if 
following  the  descent  of  a  heavy  body  through  the 
air.  But  after  a  moment  he  raised  himself,  trem 
bling  and  aghast, the  sweat  standing  on  his  fore 
head.  "It's  a  miracle!"  he  said,  huskily;  "such 
a  thing  was  never  known !  He  fell  four  hundred 
feet,  and  now  there  he  stands  at  the  bottom, 
nodding  and  waving  his  hand !  Merciful  Heaven  ! 
what  a  thing  to  see !  " 

"Why,  Roger!"  exclaimed  his  wife,  half  laughing 
and  half  alarmed,  "how  absurdly  you  act!  Any 
one  \vould  think  you  were  crazy !  What  are  you 
saying  about  the  doctor  being  down  the  cliif, 
when  he  has  not  moved  a  foot  away  from  you  ? 
Why,  what's  the  matter  with  you?" 

Her  husband  paid  not  the  slightest  attention  to 
her.  He  continued  to  stare  down  at  the  rock  on 
which  the  sea-bird  was  seated,  emitting  ever  and 
anon  inarticulate  ejaculations. 

"He  does  not  hear  you,  Mrs.  Mowbray," 
remarked  the  doctor,  speaking  aside  to  her.  "He 
is  in  what  may  be  termed  an  abnormally  imagina 
tive  state,  in  which  one  mistakes  fancies  for  facts. 
He  really  believes  that  I  jumped  off  the  cliff  and 
alighted  on  that  rock;  and  nothing  that  you  could 


THE  IRISHMAN'S  STORY.  295 

say  to  him  would  change  his  conviction.  Curious, 
is  it  not?" 

"But  what  is  the  cause  of  it  ?  He  was  never  like 
this  before !"  cried  she,  becoming  more  and  more 
alarmed.  "Can  nothing  be  done?  Roger!"  She 
laid  her  hand  on  her  husband's  arm,  but  he  moved 
away  from  her.  "He  doesn't  know  me!"  she 
exclaimed  in  terror.  "  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ?" 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Mowbray,"  interposed  the  doc 
tor,  smiling  comfortably  in  the  moonlight,  "give 
yourself  no  uneasiness ;  it  is  the  simplest  thing  in 
the  world.  Your  husband  is  partially  asleep,  that 
is  all.  A  certain  portion  of  his  brain — that  which 
discriminates  between  truth  and  imagination — has 
temporarily  ceased  to  operate;  it  has  been  inhib 
ited,  to  use  the  scientific  term ;  or,  if  you  want 
another  phrase,  your  husband  is  in  a  hypnotic 
trance.  Of  course  you  have  heard  of  hypnotism, 
and  you  are  aware  how  commonly  it  is  now  prac 
ticed,  and  how  amusing  some  ofits  manifestations 
are.  It  also  has  the  advantage  of  being  entirely 
harmless.  The  trance  can  be  broken  as  easily  as  it 
can  be  induced." 

"Oh,  but  I  do  n't  like  Roger  to  be  hypnotized !  "  she 
protested,  still  agitated.  "I  want  him  to  know 


296  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

me  and  hear  me !      Please  make  him  come  back  to 
me,  Dr.  Gramery." 

"Your  word  is  law,  my  dear  lady,  "said  the  good 
doctor,  with  perfect  amiability. 
He  turned  to  the  young  man, 
and    drawing    him  a  little  to 
one  side  appeared  to  whispt 
something     in      his      ear. 
Then  he  clapped  his  hands 
sharply  together,  and 
out,  "Hello,  Mowbray!   Here  we  are!" 

Mowbray  glanced  up,  yawned,  passed  his  hand 
over  his  forehead,  and  then,  looking  at  the  doctor 
with  evident  perplexity,  said :  "  Aren't  you  wet  ? 
How  did  yon  get  up  here  again?  " 

"You  see,"  said  the  doctor, the  next  morning 
after  they  had  talked  and  laughed  a  good  deal 
over  the  event  of  the  night  before,  "hypnotism  is 
the  real  explanation  of  all  the  marvels  of  magic 
and  enchantment  that  we  read  and  hear  about. 
The  magician's  first  act  is  to  hypnotize  the  specta 
tor  or  spectators ;  that  done,  they  will  see — imagine 
they  sec — any  miracle  he  may  choose  to  suggest  to 
them." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,"  demanded  Roger,  "that 


THE  IRISHMAN'S  STORY.  297 

he  can  put  more  than  one  person  at  a  time  into  the 
trance?" 

"A  hundred  as  easily  as  one;  and  perhaps  a 
thousand  more  easily  than  a  hundred.  Why  not  r 
Consider  the  phenomena  of  panic — the  unreason 
ing  fear  that  seizes  upon  a  multitude,  though  each 
separate  man  of  the  crowd,  if  alone,  would  have 
retained  his  presence  of  mind  ;  or  look  at  the  wild 
enthusiasm  or  rage  to  which  an  eloquent  orator 
can  arouse  a  vast  atidience,  though  any  one 
member  of  it  would  listen  to  him  coldly.  So  I 
doubt  not  it  \vould  be  easier  to  hypnotize  a  large 
assemblage  than  a  single  individual ;  and  the 
Eastern  jugglers  seem  to  do  it.  You  have  heard  01 
the  famous  Indian  'Basket  Trick,'  as  it  is  called? 
There  an  audience  of  any  number  of  persons  sever 
ally  and  collectively  witness  a  transaction  that 
their  reason  assures  them  is  preposterously  impos 
sible,  at  the  same  time  that  their  eyesight  convinces 
them  it  takes  place.  What  is  the  explanation? 
Simply,  that  they  are  all  hypnotized  before  the 
trick  is  performed;  and  then,  of  course,  the  'trick' 
is  reduced  to  merely  inducing  them  to  believe  that 
something  is  done  which  is  really  not  done  at  all." 

11  After  my  experience  of  last  night,  I  don't  feel 
like  disputing  anything  you  say,  doctor,"  observed 


298  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

Roger  Mowbray .  "  But  I  should  like  to  know  how 
a  man  can  hypnotize  a  crowd  of  people,  and  also 
how  they  can  recover  from  the  trance  without 
recognizing  that  they  have  been  in  it." 

"If  the  conditions  be  favorable,  nothing  is  more 
easily  performed  than  hypnotism,"  the  doctor 
replied.  "Sim ply  to  fix  the  attention  for  a  few 
moments  is  often  sufficient ;  and  any  juggler  can 
do  that.  I  hypnotized  you  last  night  only  by 
inducing  you  to  look  intently  at  me  for  sixty 
seconds.  Then  as  to  your  second  point,  the  trance 
may  be  of  various  degrees,  from  light  to  profound. 
The  light  trance  is  sufficient  for  complete  self-decep 
tion,  and  the  transition  from  that  to  waking  is  so 
easy  as  not  to  be  perceived." 

"I  certainly  believed  I  saw  you  jump  over  the 
cliff,"  said  Roger,  "and  after  I  came  to,  I  still 
could  hardly  persuade  myself  that  you  had  not 
done  it.  Rachel,  here,  says  she  spoke  to  me,  but  I 
did  n't  hear  her.  But  is  it  not  rather  alarming 
that  such  a  power  as  you  possess  should  exist?  " 

"Indeed,  if  I  didn't  know  the  doctor  was  a  good 
man,  I  should  n't  feel  safe  for  a  moment,"  Rachel 
said. 

"Luckily,  I  am  harmless,"  remarked  he,  with  a 
peculiar  smile.  "But  there's  truth  in  your  sugges- 


THE  IRISHMAN'S  STORY.  299' 

tion,  Mr.  Mowbray.  Hypnotism  migln  give 
terrible  powers.  If  I  had  told  you,  last  night,  to 
jump  over  the  cliff,  you  would  have  done  it,  or  if, 
\vhile  you  were  still  in  the  trance,  I  had  com 
manded  you  to  do,  or  to  see,  or  not  to  see,  a  certain 
thing  at  a  certain  future  time, — say,  at  five  o'clock 
this  afternoon, — you  would  have  obeyed  punc 
tually  at  the  appointed  hour,  without  any  further 
action  on  my  part." 

"Dear  me!"  said  Rachel,  with  a  nervous  laugh, 
"I  remember  you  whispered  something  to  Roger 
last  night,  before  you  woke  him  up.  What  did  you 
tell  him  to  do?" 

"You  said  a  person  could  be  ordered  'not  to  see' 
anything,"  broke  in  Roger.  "Do  you  mean  that  a 
concrete  object  could  be  rendered  actually  invisible 
to  one  in  the  hypnotic  trance  ?  " 

"Certainly!"  replied  the  doctor.  "Anything 
that  is  told  to  the  patient,  he  is  bound  to  believe. 
If  I  were  to  tell  you  that  the  big  tree  yonder  had 
been  dug  up  and  carried  away,  it  would  immedi 
ately  become  invisible  to  you;  and  neither  your  sense 
of  touch  nor  any  other  means  could  persuade  you 
that  there  was  anything  there.  But  I  see  this  con 
versation  is  distressing  Mrs.  Mowbray;  let  us 


300  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

change  it.  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Mowbray,  that  you 
bear  a  strong  resemblance  to  your  late  father?  " 

"I  have  been  sometimes  told  so.  But  I  was  not 
aware  that  you  knew  him." 

"Yes,  I  knew  him  well,  many  years  ago,  when 
we  were  both  about  your  age.  Afterward,  circum 
stances  separated  us.  When  I  met  you  the  other 
day  in  London  the  likeness  startled  me ;  it  was  as 
if  a  buried  generation  had  come  to  life  again.  Your 
father's  wife  was  a  Miss  Clayton,  I  think?  " 

"Yes, that  was  my  mother's  name." 

"Ah!  I  was  not  thinking  of  her  as  your  mother. 
I  do  not  trace  her  features  in  you.  However,  that 
is  neither  here  nor  there.  Thinking  over  those  old 
days  has  recalled  another  person  to  my  mind — one 
John  Felbrigge.  I  fancy  you  have  never  heard  of 
him." 

"I  think  I  remember  the  name,"  said  Roger, 
"but  I  never  saw  him.  Unless  I'm  mistaken,  my 
father  and  he  were  not  good  friends." 

"They  were  friends  until,  for  some  reason,  they 
had  a  bitter  quarrel,  and  parted.  It  was  the  gen 
eral  opinion  that  Felbrigge  was  in  fault.  He  was 
certainly  a  cross-grained  fellow,  whereas  your 
father  was  always  very  suave  and  engaging.  The 
quarrel  occurred  before  your  father's  marriage, 


THE  IRISHMAN'S  STORY.  301 

and  the  occasion  of  it,  I  think,  was  some  affair  of 
the  heart.  Naturally,  Felbrigge  would  get  worsted 
there!" 

"What  became  of  this  Mr.  Felbrigge?  "  inquired 
Rachel. 

"He  was  a  student,  and  after  the  quarrel  he 
devoted  himself  to  abstruse  researches,  and  lived 
on  the  Continent,  and  afterward  in  India.  He 
ought  to  have  died  long  since,  I  suppose." 

"The  woman  in  the  case  was  not  my  mother, 
was  it?  "  asked  Roger. 

"She  was  not  the  lady  your  father  married,  I 
think, ' '  the  doctor  replied .  "It  was  probably  some 
earlier  affair;  he  was  a  dangerous  man, "he added, 
laughing.  "Now  that  I  recollect,  the  other 
woman's  name  was  Mercy — yes,  Mercy  Holland. 
You  never  knew  of  her?  " 
Mowbray  shook  his  head. 

"No,  of  course  not!  "said  the  doctor.  "And 
what  interest  have  these  old  stories  for  you  young 
people?  Come.  I  have  something  to  propose! 
What  do  vou  say  to  our  taking  our  luncheon  with 
us,  and  spending  the  day  down  on  the  rocks? 
There  are  some  curious  caves  I  want  you  to  see ; 
and  there  is  a  romantic  legend  about  one  of  them. 
Shall  we  go?" 


302 


SIX   CENT   SAM  S. 


The  others  willingly  consented,  and  they  made 
their  preparations  and  set  out.  Instead  of  climb 
ing  to  the  top  of  Slyne  Head,  as  on  the  previous 
evening,  they  descended  to  the 
shore,  above  which  the  stupen 
dous  crags  hung  as  if  about  to 

topple  over. In  a  crevice  of  the 

'just above  high 
water  mark,   the 
doctor    picked 
fragment  of 
with  a    hand 
cuff     at>  >fcK  tached   to  it. 
It  was  but 
rusted,     and 
could  have  been 
but  a  short  time' 
before.      Mowbray 
and  his  wife  were  much 
interested  in  the  discovery/'" 
and  speculated  as  to  how  i 
could  have  got  there. 

"Is  there  a  jail  any  where  in  this  neighborhood?  " 
Roger  inquired. 

"None  nearer  than  Galway,  that  I  know  of," 
replied  the  doctor.     "  But  I  believe  there  have  been 


THE  IRISHMAN'S  STOKY.  303 

some  evictions  going  on  in  this  neighborhood,  and 
this  handcuff  may  have  been  put  on  a  prisoner 
who  escaped.  He  must  have  had  assistance  in 
freeing  himself  from  his  fetters,  however.  This 
handcuff,  as  you  see,  shuts  by  a  spring,  and  can  be 
opened  only  by  taking  two  hands  to  it.  The 
person  to  whom  it  was  attached  could  not  unfasten 
it  unaided.  It  is  certainly  odd  that  the  fugitive 
should  have  shaped  his  course  in  this  direction.  In 
these  thinly  settled  regions  concealment  is  more 
difficult  than  in  cities." 

"What  a  strange  feeling  it  must  be  to  be 
fastened  to  a  chain,  and  know  that  you  can't  get 
away,"  observed  Rachel,  examining  the  steel 
manacle  with  curiosity. 

"People  get  used  to  even  that,"  rejoined  the 
doctor;  "and  after  all,  we  are  all  fettered  in 
some  way,  though  the  links  may  be  invisible."  He 
put  the  relic  in  his  pocket,  and  they  continued  their 
journey  along  the  beach.  The  way  was  rough 
and  tortuous,  the  bowlders  lying  irregularly,  and 
the  pebbles  of  which  the  beach  was  composed  offer 
ing  a  slippery  and  wearisome  foothold.  They  were 
nearly  an  hour  in  going  no  more  than  a  mile;  but 
they  were  rewarded,  at  the  end  of  their  journey,  by 
coming  to  a  large  cave,  hollowed  out  in  the  sea- 


304  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

ward  extremity  of  a  promontory  that  formed  one 
of  the  natural  divisions  of  the  beach.  Its  mouth 
was  only  about  .seven  or  eight  feet  in  diameter; 
but  inside  it  expanded  into  a  chamber  of  fair  size 
and  height,  draped  with  seaweed,  and  pervaded 
by  the  clean,  salt  smell  of  the  sea.  The  day  had 
been  somewhat  close  and  oppressive,  and  the  cool" 
ness  of  the  cave  was  grateful,  after  their  arduous 
\valk.  The  interior  was  lighted  up  by  the  rays  of 
the  declining  sun,  for  it  was  already  afternoon. 

Using  a  large  flat  stone  as  a  table,  they  unpacked 
their  basket,  and  lunched  at  their  leisure.  The 
doctor  was  in  capital  spirits,  and  made  himself 
highly  agreeable.  He  related  many  stories  of  his 
own  past  life  and  adventures ;  he  had  traveled  in 
all  parts  of  the  world,  and  had  lived  several  years 
in  Northern  India,  where  he  had  seen  strange 
sights.  Finally,  the  conversation  got  round  to  the 
spot  where  they  then  were,  and  the  traditions  con 
nected  with  it. 

"And,  by  the  by,  one  of  the  best  yarns  is  about 
this  very  cave,"  he  remarked.  "Many  years  ago 
a  powerful  noble  lived  near  Slyne  Head,  and  he 
married  a  young  and  beautiful  woman.  For  a 
time,  all  appeared  to  go  well ;  but  finally  the  hus 
band  became  suspicious  of  the  attentions  to  his 


THE   IRISHMAN'S  STORY.  305 

wife  of  a  neighbor  of  his  who  was  visiting  him. 
He  watched,  and  his  suspicions  were  confirmed. 
He  concealed  his  emotions,  whatever  they  were, 
and  on  some  pretext  invited  his  wife  and  the  friend 
to  this  cave.  He  had  had  an  iron  ring  fastened  to 
the  rock  at  the  back  part  of  the  cave,  with  a  chain 
attached  to  it.  Pretending  to  be  in  sport,  he 
induced  them  to  let  him  fasten  this  chain  around 
them,  and  then,  telling  them  to  be  happy  together 
to  their  hearts'  content,  and  replying  to  their 
shrieks  and  entreaties  only  by  peals  of  laughter,  he 
bade  them  farewell  and  left  them.  The  tide  was 
rising,  and  a  storm  was  coming  on.  A  couple  of 
hours  later  the  cave  was  submerged,  and  the  lovers 
wrere,  of  course,  drowned.  What  do  you  think  of 
that  legend,  Mrs.  Mowbray  ?  Would  you  like  to 
know  what  the  young  people  said  to  each  other, 
when  they  were  left  alone,  and  the  first  \vave 
threw  its  spray  over  them?" 

"It  is  fearful  to  think  of,"  said  Rachel,  with  a 
shudder.  "Was  it  really  this  very  cave?" 

"Undoubtedly;  and  if  you  want  any  further 
proof,  the  ring  to  which  they  were  chained  still 
hangs  to  the  rock  behind  you.  See — the  sunlight 
has  just  reached  it!" 


306 


SIX   CENT   SAM  S. 


Rachel  turned  with  a  start,  and  then  all  three 
approached  the  ring  and  examined  it.  It  was 
hanging  to  a  bolt  driven  into  the  face  of  the  solid 
rock,  at  the  furthest  extremity  of  the  cave.  It  was 


about  seven  inches  in  diameter,  and  appeared  to 
beat  least  an  inch  in  thickness,  though  it  was  so 
bearded  with  green  seaweed  and  roughened  with 
rust  and  limpets  that  an  exact  estimate  was  diffi 
cult.  At  all  events,  it  looked  strong  enough  to 


THE  IRISHMAN'S  STORY.  307 

hold  an  ox,  much  more  a  pair  of  terrified  lovers. 
Beneath  the  ring  was  a  shallow  ledge,  forming  a 
rude  seat,  and  Rachel,  who  was  fascinated  by  the 
picturesque  horror  of  the  thing,  sat  down  upon  it. 
The  setting  sun  shone  on  her  charming  face,  and 
gave  it  the  semblance  of  a  rosy  blush.  Her  husband 
thought  she  had  never  looked  more  lovely. 

The  doctor  took  the  handcuff  from  his  pocket, 
and  passed  the  chain  through  the  ring,  fastening  it 
by  springing  one  of  the  links  over  another.  "  That 
will  enable  us  to  realize  the  situation  better,"  he 
remarked,  turning  to  Roger  with  a  smile,  and  put 
ting  the  handcuff  in  his  hand.  "Imagine  Mrs. 
Mowbray  to  be  the  lady  in  question,  and  you  the 
wicked  earl." 

"Shall  I  manacle  you,  Rachel?"  asked  her  hus 
band,  playfully. 

She  held  out  her  wrist  at  once.  "  Do !"  she  said ; 
"I  am  not  afraid." 

"Don't  be  too  sure  of  your  nerves,"  put  in  the 
doctor;  "it  might  give  you  a  turn." 

"Oh,  my  husband  will  not  desert  me,"  she 
replied.  "Put  it  on,  Roger." 

He  slipped  it  on  and  fastened  it.  "There — now 
you  are  a  prisoner,"  said  he. 


308  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

"And  now  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  imagine  that 
you  are  to  stay  there  until  this  time  to-morrow," 
the  doctor  added,  "when  some  fisherman, perhaps r 
will  discover  your  drowned  and  bruised  body.  You 
are  looking  for  the  last  time  on  yonder  setting  sun. 
Do  you  hear  the  plunging  of  the  surf?  In  another 
hour  it  \vill  be  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave ;  an  hour 
more  and  it  will  have  filled  it  to  the  roof.  You 
will  be  alone,  and  death  will  come  slowly  and 
frightfully.  You  will  struggle  and  strain,  and  tug 
at  your  fetters ;  the  steel  will  cut  into  your  flesh, 
but  you  cannot  break  it.  The  cold  water  will 
creep  slowly  to  your  knees,  your  waist,  your 
throat.  You  will  scream — ah !  what  screams  I 
but  the  rocks  will  echo  them  back,  and  they  will 
die  aw  ay  upon  the  sea.  You  will  think  of  the  sweet 
ness  of  life,  of  your  warm  and  familiar  home,  of  the 
love  of  your  friends,  and  of  your  husband — and 
then  the  wave  will  lap  over  your  face  and  gurgle 
into  your  mouth,  and  strangle  your  breath;  you 
will  be  nothing  but  a  lump  of  lifeless  flesh,  and  this 
pleasant,  luxurious  world  will  know  you  no 
more!" 

Doctor  Gramery  must  have  had  a  good  deal  of 
the  actor's  talent ;  he  had  begun  his  speech  lightly- 
enough,  but  as  he  went  on  his  voice  became  hoarse 


THE  IRISHMAN'S  STORY.  309 

and  incisive ;  he  made  strange  gestures,  and  there 
was  something  terrible  and  ominous  in  his  aspect. 
Rachel  sat  gazing  at  him  with  parted  lips  and 
widening  eyes.  As  he  finished  she  rose  to  her  feet, 
and  stretching  out  her  hand  to  her  husband,  fal 
tered  :  ' '  Let  me  go ! ' ' 

By  a  sudden,  forcible  movement  the  doctor  inter 
posed  himself  between  them. 

"Five  o'clock!"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  stern,  com 
manding  tone. 

Roger  stood  motionless  for  a  few  moments,  while 
a  dazed  expression  came  over  his  face.  The  doctor 
now  moved  to  one  side;  the  husband  and  wife 
were  within  a  couple  of  paces  of  each  other,  and 
his  eyes  rested  upon  her.  But  there  was  a  queer, 
vague  look  in  them,  and  presently  he  said,  in  a 
sluggish  tone,  "Where  is  Rachel?" 

"Here  I  am — here!  "she  exclaimed.  "Here  in  front 
of  you !  What  ails  you,  Roger  ?  Take  off  this  man 
acle—it  hurts  me !  Do  n't  you  hear  me  ?  " 

"It  is  very  odd,"  said  Roger,  turning  to  the  doc 
tor.  ' '  What  has  become  of  Rachel  ?  She  was  here 
just  now,  and  I  didn't  see  her  go  out.  How  was 
it?" 

"Mrs.  Mowbray  ?  "responded  the  doctor, coolly. 
"Why,  my  dear  fellow,  she  just  went  out  of  the 


310  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

cave.  Is  it  possible  you  didn't  notice  her?  See!" 
he  added,  pointing  outward,  "  there  she  stands  on 
that  rock  at  the  entrance,  beckoning  to  us!  Come 
on,  it's  getting  damp,  and  we  shall  be  catching 
our  death  of  cold.  We  have  a  long  walk  before 
us." 

The  two  men  moved  together  toward  the  mouth 
of  the  cave,  Roger  walking  like  a  man  in  a  dream. 
Suddenly  a  piercing  shriek  filled  the  cave.  "  Roger! 
my  husband !  my  love !  Hear  me !  Come  to  me !" 
Then  came  another  shriek. 

Mowbray  and  the  doctor  were  now  at  the 
mouth  of  the  cave,  and  the  latter  pointed  along 
the  beach  to  the  right.  "There  she  goes! "he  said. 
"Let  us  hurry  and  catch  up  with  her.  She  will 
stumble  among  these  slippery  stones  and  hurt  her 
self." 

"Oh,  God!"  said  a  husky  voice,  strained  and 
unnatural.  The  chain  rattled  and  strained ;  there 
was  a  groan.  Mowbray  had  moved  out  of  sight. 
The  doctor  turned  and  looked  into  the  cave  with  a 
hideous  expression ;  then  he,  too,  vanished. 

A  storm  had  been  gathering  during  the  after 
noon,  and  soon  after  five  o'clock  it  burst  over 
Slyne  Head,  with  frequent  crashes  of  thunder  and 


THE  IRISHMAN'S  STORY.  311 

zigzags  of  lightning.    The  rain  hissed  down  in  tor- 


rents. 
Six  o'clock 
'had  passed 
•when  Roger 
Mowbray,  his 
clothes  soaked 
through,  and  a 
scared,  drawn  look 
on  his  face,  walked  has 
tily  into  the  inn,  and  called 
for  Pat  Maguire.  After  the 
summons  had  been  repeated  once  or  twice,  with 
increasing  emphasis,  Mrs.  Maguire  appeared  from 
the  kitchen,  wiping  her  hands  on  her  apron. 
"What  would  ye  be  pleased  to  want,  sorr?"  said 
she.  "Sure,  Misther  Maguire  stepped  out  an  hour 
ago;  he  was  after  fearin'  ye'd  be  caught  in  the 


312  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

rain,  and  't  was  warnin'  ye  to  come  home  he'd  be. 
Didn't  ye  meet  him  at  all,  at  all?" 

"No.  Has  Mrs.  Mowbray — my  wife — has  she 
returned?  " 

"Yer  wife,  is  it?  Indade,  then,  she  has  not,  sorr! 
Ye're  the  first  in  this  night." 

"Doctor  Gramery — has  not  he  got  back?  We 
parted  on  the  beach — he  took  another  path  up  the 
cliff.  Have  you  seen  nothing  of  either  of  them?" 

"Not  I,  Misther  Mowbray — hide  nor  hair  av 
'em.  But  there  was  a  bit  av  a  letter  the  doctor 
left  this  mornin',  an'  he  was  tellin'  Misther 
Maguire  to  give  it  ye  at  six  o'clock — not  sooner. 
Maybe  that'll  explain  things — more  betoken 'tis  six 
o'clock  now,  an'  afther.  Wait  till  I  fetch  it !  " 

She  disappeared  into  the  kitchen,  and  returned 
in  a  moment  \vith  a  letter  in  her  hands.  Roger 
opened  it,  and  this  is  what  he  read : 

"  ROGER  MOWBRAY: — When  you  read  this  I  shall  have 
accomplished  the  purpose  for  which  I  brought  you  down 
here,  and  for  which  I  have  \vaited  many  years.  You 
know  me  as  Griffith  Gramery,  but  my  true  name  is  John 
Felbrigge.  Thirty  years  ago  yourfather  took  away  the 
woman  I  loved,  Mercy  Holland,  and  ruined  her.  She 
bore  him  a  child;  by  his  cruelty  and  neglect  she  died  in 
childbed.  At  that  time  he  had  already  married;  but  his 
Wife  being  an  invalid,  and  incapable  of  raising  up  chil- 


THE  IRISHMAN'S  STORY.  313 

•dren  for  him,  he  caused  you  to  be  put  for  ward  as  her  sotij 
thereby  keeping  the  estates  in  the  family.  But  you  have 
no  more  right  to  your  name  than  any  other  base-born 
waif  of  the  gutter. 

"  I  \vaited  a  long  while  for  the  proper  time  and  means 
for  retaliation;  but  when  I  heard  that  you  were 
married,  I  saw  my  way.  Last  night  I  proved  my 
power  over  you  ;  to-day,  in  the  cave,  I  shall  put  it  into 
practice.  At  the  moment  you  read  this,  your  wife, 
chained  to  the  rock  by  the  manacle  I  have  provided  for 
the  purpose,  will  be  drawing  her  last  breath  in  loneliness 
and  agony — an  agony  as  great,  I  trust,  as  that  which 
3rour  father  caused  Mercy  Holland  to  endure.  And  you, 
realizing  that  you  abandoned  her  there,  misled  by  the 
bewilderment  I  put  upon  your  senses,  will  understand 
something  of  the  despair  I  felt  when  I  knew  that 
the  woman  I  would  have  made  my  wife  had  died 
in  shame  and  misery.  May  you  live  to  endure  that 
•despair  as  long  as  I  have  done!  As  for  me,  you  will 
never  see  me  again.  I  have  my  place  of  retreat  provided 
where  I  shall  spend  many  years  in  ease  and  comfort, 
happy  in  the  assurance  that  all  I  desired  has  been 
brought  to  pass.  Blessed  be  hypnotism! 
"Yours  to  command, 

"JOHN  FELBRIGGE." 

Roger  Mowbray  slowly  laid  the  letter  down  on 
the  table,  and  looked  up  with  a  ghastly  counte 
nance.  At  that  moment  there  was  a  hurried  step 
-on  the  threshold,  a  sound  of  voices,  and  the  door 


314 


six  CENT  SAM'S. 


was  thrown  open.     In  swept  the  storm,  with  wind 

and  rain;  a  clap  of  thunder  shook  the  house;  and 

there  stood 

Pat  Maguire, 

red  in  the  face 

and  breathless, 

and  leaning  on 

his  arm,  weak 

and  tottering, 

her  clothing 

drenched    and 

torn,   her  wet 

hair     hanging 

about    her 

shoulders, 

her  wrist 

bruised  and 

bloody  — there 

was     Rachel 

Mowbray,  res- 

cued    at 

utmost  need, 

with  the  sea    leaping  at 

her  very  throat,  by  the  worthy  Irishman  whom 

chance  had  brought  within  hearing  of  her  final  out- 


THE   SYMPOSIUM.  315 

cry.  There  she  was,  no  phantom  of  a  bewildered 
brain,  but  true  flesh  and  blood,  alive  and  safe  — 
and  in  her  husband's  arms ! 

Next  morning,  when  the  storm  had  cleared  aw  ay, 
the  dead  body  of  Doctor  Gramery,  alias  John 
Felbrigge,  was  found  lying  at  the  foot  of  Slyne 
Head,  crushed  and  disfigured.  How  he  came  to 
his  death,  whether  by  accident  or  design,  was 
never  known.  He  may  have  lost  his  way  and. 
missed  his  footing  in  the  storm  ;  or  the  horror  of 
the  deed  he  had  done  may  have  proved  too  much 
even  for  his  iron  nerves,  and  he  sought  oblivion  in 
suicide.  He  was  buried  where  he  fell,  and  the 
great  cliff  is  his  gravestone;  but  the  peasants 
avoid  the  spot,  and  in  the  roaring  of  the  waves 
they  sometimes  fancy  that  they  catch  the  fearful 
outcry  of  a  lost  soul. 

-X-  -X-  * 

''Now,  gentlemen,"  said  Sam,  noticing  that 
some  of  us  were  beginning  to  glance  covertly  at 
our  watches,  "w-e're  only  at  the  beginning  of  the 
evening,  and  I'll  have  no  one  dropping  out  yet 
awhile  on  any  pretext  whatever.  There's  a  bowl 
of  punch  will  be  in  here  before  long,  in  which  we'll 


-316  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

drink  long  Hie  to  Old  Father  Christmas,  and  many 
another  good  old  toast.  And  while  we're  waiting 
for  the  punch  to  come,  I  think  it  would  be  no  more 
than  fair  for  my  friend  here  on  my  right  to  give  us 
an  instance  of  some  psychological  phenomenon 
that  can't  reasonably  be  referred  to  hypnosis.  He 
has  challenged  the  last  speaker's  position,  and  we 
are  justified  in  assuming  that  he  has  something 
more  acceptable  to  substitute  for  it." 

As  Sam  said  these  words,  he  turned  in  his  chair 
and  fixed  upon  me  the  penetrating  and  inimitable 
glance  of  those  powerful  eyes  of  his,  whose  com 
pelling  influence  I  had  first  felt  on  the  occasion  of 
my  introduction  to  the  little  eating  house,  years 
ago,  by  the  genial  and  mysterious  Northam.  I 
looked  round  the  table,  and  perceived  that  Sam 
evidently  had  the  house  with  him;  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  get  out  of  the  scrape  as  best 
I  might.  Now  it  so  chanced  that  I  had  very  lately 
been  the  witness  of  an  incident  which  had  caused 
me  a  great  deal  of  speculation ;  it  was  something 
out  of  the  common  run,  and  would,  I  thought, 
serve  as  well  as  anything  else  to  en  able  me  to  make 
a  graceful  retreat.  So,  without  more  ado,  I  pro 
ceeded,  as  briefly  as  possible,  to  tell  my  attentive 
audience 


MY   OWN   STORY. 


317 


MY    OWN    STORY. 

If  WAS  on  my  way  to  witness 
Professor  Palliser's  won 
derful  expei-iment.  The 
experiment  was  a 
new  one,  and  had  never 
before  been  exhibited. 
Hastening  along  with  my 
head  down,  I  came  into  col 
lision  with  my  old  friend 
Colbran,  whom  I  had  not 
seen  for  three  years, 
though  his  fame  had 
reached  me  from  abroad, 
where  he  was  acknowledged 
to  be  the  greatest  baritone 
singer  of  his  time.  He  con 
sented  to  go  with  me,  and 
we  entered  the  professor's  laboratory  together. 

The  apparatus  was  very  simple ;  a  structure  of 
vibrating  strings  and  resounding  metallic  surfaces, 
the  whole  about  the  size  of  an  ordinary  revolving 
bookstand.  It  was  supported  on  a  low  cylinder 


318  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

of  Mexican  onyx,  on  the  top  of  which  rested  a 
butterfly  some  nine  inches  across  the  wings.  It 
was  not  a  real  butterfly,  but  a  beautiful  and  skill 
ful  piece  of  mechanism,  as  we  perceived  on  handling 
it.  It  was  made  chiefly  of  gold,  and  weighed,  I 
suppose,  about  eight  ounces. 

The  professor  explained  to  us  the  principle  on 
which  he  was  "working,  and  told  us  what  he  was 
going  to  do.  Colbran  listened  very  closely,  and 
seemed  to  grasp  the  central  idea. 

"Is  not  this  coming  very  close  to  life  ?  "  he  finally 
asked. 

"Life,"  replied  the  professor,  "implies  what  we 
call  emotion.  Love  is  the  most  subtle  and  search 
ing  of  all  vibrations.  Between  that  and  the 
etheric  phenomena  there  is  a  gulf  not  yet  bridged. 
I  am  already  able  to  set  material  objects  in  motion 
by  acting  upon  the  atomic  particles  or  molecules  of 
\vhich  they  are  composed.  I  expect  ultimately  to 
be  able  to  create  material  substances  out  of  ether. 
But  to  instill  life  is  a  step  beyond  that.  Life  can 
proceed  only  from  life,  directed  and  energized  by 
love.  The  process  will  probably  turn  out  to  be  of 
the  most  elemental  simplicity,  like  all  things 
-supremely  great ;  it  may  be  on  the  lines  on  which  I 


MY   OWN   STORY. 


319 


am  now  working.  '  But  it  is  still,  and  may  always 
remain  a  mystery. 

Here  the  professor  took  up  an  instrument  some- 
resembling  an  antique  lute,  and  tried 
'the  strings  with  a  bow.  Then,  going  to 
the  apparatus  I  have  described,  he 
set  in  motion  a  small  object  attached  to  its 
top ;  it  revolved  rapidly  on  a  vertical  axis,  emit 
ting  a  clear  note  like  a  humming  top.  Standing 
in  front  of  the  apparatus,  he  began  to  play  a 
simple  tune  on  the  lute,  to  which 
the  strings  and  metallic  sur-  J 
faces  of  the  apparatus  returned 
a  resonant  echo.  Several 
times  he  varied  the  pitch. 
Suddenly  a  penetrat 
ing,  harmonious 
note  rang  out, 
and  the  golden 
butterfly  stirred, 
and  moved  its  wings. 
The  professor  continued 
to  play  vigorously.  The 
butterfly  lifted  itself  in 
the  air,  fluttered  upward  to  the  height  of  a  couple 
of  feet,  remained  hovering  suspended  there  for 


320  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

several  seconds,  and  then  fell  slowly  to  the  floor. 

"Have  you  any  objections  to  letting  me  try,  pro 
fessor,"  asked  Colbran.  "It  seems  to  me  that  the 
human  voice  may  have  a  power  in  this  direction 
that  would  be  worth  studying." 

"I  beg  you  will  proceed,"  the  professor  replied 
courteously,  but  with  a  slight  smile.  He  replaced 
the  butterfly  on  the  column,  and  handed  Colbran 
the  lute. 

"No;  I  shall  try  to  dispense  with  that,"  said 
the  latter.  "If  my  notion  has  any  basis  in  truth 
the  vocal  chords  are  the  only  instrument  required." 

Standing  erect  in  the  center  of  the  room,  he  sent 
forth  his  voice  in  a  note  that  vibrated  in  our  ears 
with  the  clearness  of  a  silver  trumpet,  but  much 
finer  in  quality.  He  sang  no  words,  but  simply 
ascended  and  descended  the  scale  in  varying  modu 
lations.  What  ensued  was  extraordinary.  The 
butterfly  rose  from  the  pillar,  waving  it  wings 
with  long,  tranquil  strokes,  and  soared  lightly 
upward.  Just  before  it  brushed  the  ceiling,  Colbran 
struck  a  new  key,  and  the  golden  insect,  as  if  in 
response  to  a  summons,  changed  its  course  and 
came  hovering  above  his  head.  Again  a.  change ; 
it  flitted  hither  and  thither  about  the  room,  now 
approaching,  now  retreating  from  one  or  other 


MY    OWN    STORY.  321 

of  us,  seemingly  in  obedience  to  the  silent  impulse 
of  Colbran's  will. 

"  I  have  promised  some  friends  to  call  on  them 
this  evening,"  said  I,  when  we  were  again  in  the 
street.  "I  want  you  to  come  with  me,  and  make 
their  acquaintance." 

We  \vere  admitted  to  the  house  only  to  hear  sad 
tidings.  The  little  girl  had  been  attacked  by 
teething  convulsions  the  night  before,  and  had 
just  died.  It  was  the  grief  stricken  father  who 
told  us  this.  They  took  us  to  an  inner  room, 
where  the  little  body  was  lying  on  its  white 
couch. 

"What  is  her  name?  "  Colbran  asked,  at  length. 

"Helen, "said  the  mother. 

"Her  spirit  should  not  be  far  from  us,  as  yet,"' 
said  he. 

"The  gulf  is  none  the  less  deep  for  being  recent/' 
was  the  father's  sad  answer. 

"There  is  no  gulf  so  deep  that  love  may  not 
cross  it,"  said  Colbran.  "Can  you  believe 
that  the  faith  and  will  of  united  hum  an  spirits  may 
make  itself  felt  even  by  those  who  have  passed  to 
a  sphere  of  life  above  the  mortal  ?  " 

The  father  shook  his  head  gloomily;  but  the 
mother,  looking  up.  at  the  great  singer  with 


322 


SIX   CENT  SAM'S. 


tremulous  lips  and  streaming  eyes,  faltered  out: 
"I  feel  that  she  is  near  us ;   but  who  can  call  her 

back?" 

"With  God's  help,"  replied   Colbran,  solemnly, 

"I  will  try." 
He  lifted  up  his  head,   and  presently    his  voice 

vibrated  on  the  still  air.      As  before,  there  did  not 

seem  to  be       «^    any    words 

and    yet  I        J3i\  fancied 

in  those  deep, 

searching,  rejoic 
ing  chords  I    could 

trace  the  varied  repetition  of 

Helen's  name.     Ah,  what  a 

voice  was  that !    Strong  as  the 

thunder  of  the  ocean,  gentle  and 

sweet  as  the  sighing  of  ^Eolian 

harp-strings ;  methought  I  had 

never  known  what  music  was 

till    now.      The     melody 

thrilled  the  nerves  and 

glowed  in  the  pulses ; 

and  as  the  singer  pro 
ceeded,  he  flung  his 

strains,  until  it  seemed 


very  soul    into    the 
as  if  love  and  life  were 


come  from  heaven  to  utter  themselves  through  his 


MY   OWN   STORY.  323 

lips.  No  description  can  convey  the  penetrating, 
reviving,  uplifting  potency  of  that  song.  Its 
power  was  almost  awful,  and  yet  so  tender  that  it 
drew  tears  to  the  eyes— tears,  and  smiles  such  as 
are  born  only  of  tears  like  these. 

And  now  came  a  piercing  cry  from  the  mother. 

"She  moves!  She  is  breathing!  0  God!  she  is 
alive!" 

I  looked  in  awe.  Slowly  the  pale  cheeks  became 
pink,  the  soft  lips  parted  and  trembled,  the  little 
bosom  stirred  beneath  its  white  drapery ;  and  as 
the  last  notes  of  that  mighty  and  mysterious  song 
died  away,  little  Helen  opened  her  eyes  and  was 
in  this  world  once  more. 

I  felt  a  hand  on  my  arm,  and  Colbran  drew  me 
out  of  the  room.  The  father  and  mother  were 
blind  to  everything  but  their  unspeakable  happi 
ness. 

"What  are  you?  What  have  you  done?"  I 
«aid. 

The  week  of  Christmas  had  begun.  All  the  stars 
were  out,  and  the  chimes  were  ringing  in  the 
steeples. 

"I  know  nothing,"  said  Colbran.  "Men  are 
sometimes  the  messengers  of  God.  This  is  the 


324  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

anniversary  of  the  greatest  mystery ;  but,  from  the 
beginning  to  the  end,  God  is  with  us  always." 

•X-  *  * 

"Upon  my  word,  sir,"  said  the  red-headed  Irish 
man,  chivalrously,  "you've  given  us  something  to 
think  of  that's  away  above  the  plane  of  hypno 
sis  altogether.  And  I  tell  you  frankly,  I  rejoice 
in  the  little  discussion  we  had,  if  only  because  it 
was  the  occasion  of  introducing  us  to  your  friend 
Colbran.  Faith,  he  ought  to  be  one  of  us." 

"And  now,  gentlemen,"  said  Sam,  rising,  "if 
you'll  excuse  me  for  a  moment,  I'll  step  out  and 
see  about  that  punch." 

He  left  the  room,  and  we,  left  to  ourselves,  drifted 
into  general  conversation.  I  began  a  dialogue 
with  the  unseen 'gentleman  (who  had  now  become 
visible)  on  the  subject  of  Sam  himself. 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  what  is  he,  and  what  is 
his  end  in  life?  "  I  asked.  "He  is  all  things  to  all 
men  and  yet  he  is  of  all  men  I  know  perhaps 
the  simplest  and  most  straightforward.  What 
can  be  the  reason  that  one  of  his  ability  and 
resource  should  keep  a  six-cent  eating  house  and 
a  pawn-shop?  Such  a  man  might,  if  he  chose, 
stand  at  the  head  of  some  vast  industrial  enter 
prise  ;  or  he  might,  if  he  would  condescend  to  such 


THE   SYMPOSIUM.  325 

a  thing,  be  president  of  the  United  States.  There 
is  nothing  he  could  not  do,  and  do  well;  and  yet 
he  hides  himself  in  such  a  place  and  position  as 
this." 

"The  most  powerful  men  in  the  world,  there  is 
reason  to  believe, "  replied  my  interlocutor,  "have 
not  always,  or  often,  been  those  whose  attitude  in 
the  public  eye  was  most  conspicuous.  The  great 
est  forces,  both  human  and  natural,  are  the  invisi 
ble  ones.  It  is  not  easv  to  overestimate  how  much 
lie  sacrifices  who  puts  himself  where  the  world  can 
see  and  criticise  him.  The  ideal  life,  both  for  hap 
piness  and  efficiency,  is  the  unseen  life.  What 
greater  power  has  mankind  developed  than  the 
power  of  democracv?  And  wrhat  power  is  so 
secret  and  inscrutable?  Xow,  to  my  thinking,  our 
friend  Sam  is  the  incarnation  of  democracy ;  not, 
of  course,  of  that  particular  political  party  which, 
for  temporary  reasons,  assumes  that  title ;  but  ol 
the  essential,  immortal  democracy  that  embraces 
•whatever  in  human  life  is  free,  wise,  and  happy. 
We  can't  measure  his  influence,  or  estimate  his 
ability ;  he  may  seem  to  neglect  all  that  we  esteem 
valuable,  and  to  interest  himself  in  matters  that 
\ve  think  trifling.  Nevertheless,  he  is  the  man  of  the 


326  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

age  and  the  man  of  the  future,  and  the  circum 
stance  that  he  sells  cheap  lunches  and  issues  pledges- 
for  old  clothing  only  serves  to  show  that  he  repre 
sents  the  people  instead  of  merely  himself." 

Before  I  had  time  to  think  of  the  proper  rejoin 
der  to  these  queer  observations,  the  door  opened 
and  in  came  Sam,  and — what?  Yes,  positively,  he 
had  a  lady  on  his  arm. 

Now,  the  mere  fact  that  Sam  had  a  lady  on  his- 
arm  would  not,  as  the  diligent  student  of  these 
reminiscences  is  aware,  have  necessarily  awakened 
any  special  amazement  in  our  minds.  But  that  he 
should  introduce  a  lady — and  such  a  lady  as  this- 
was — in  that  place  and  at  that  time,  was  certainly 
startling.  Who  was  she?  Whence  was  she? 
What  was  she  here  for  ? 

After  the  first  moment  of  surprise  was  past,  we 
all  rose  to  our  feet  as  one  man.  Had  you  yourself 
had  the  good  fortune  to  see  the  lady,  you  would 
have  understood  that  this  action  was  not  the 
result  simply  of  the  instinctive  reverence  that  every 
American  gentleman  feels  for  anything  in  the  shape 
of  womanhood,  but  was  due,  in  addition,  to  the 
fact  that  this  particular  representative  of  the  sex 
was  one  of  those  who  would  command  respect, 


THE   SYMPOSIUM.  327 

service  and  admiration  from  the  veriest  boors  that 
ever  existed.  She  was  a  lady  in  the  most  exacting 
sense  of  the  term;  beautiful,  graceful,  gracious, 
distinguished,  and  withal  charming,  winning,  and 
lovable  in  the  highest  degree. 

And  she  possessed  still  another  characteristic 
that  commanded  our  homage.  Not  only  did  each 
one  of  us  recognize  in  her  those  qualities  that  were 
to  him  especially  attractive  in  woman,  but  also  it 
was  somehow  borne  in  upon  us  all  that  she  was 
singularly  and  peculiarly  fitted  to  be  the  counter 
part  and  fellow-being  of  Sam  himself.  She  was,  so 
to  say,  his  interpretation  and  reflection  in  feminine 
form;  she  belonged  to  him  by  nature;  and  Sam, 
able  and  unconquerable  though  he  always  was, 
had  never  appeared  so  thoroughly  himself— never  so 
complete  and  satisfactory — as  he  did  when  stand 
ing  there  with  this  superb  creature  smiling  and 
blushing  on  his  arm.  They  were  a  pair,  if  ever 
there  was  one;  and  nobody  was  in  the  least 
unprepared  for  the  words  which  Sam  now 
uttered : 

"My  friends,"  quoth  he,  "I  have  the  pleasure  of 
presenting  to  you  my  wife." 

We  all  gathered  round  them,  and  were  made 


328  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

known  to  her  personally,  one  after  the  other.  It 
was  not  long  before  we  felt  as  if  we  had  known 
her  as  long  as  we  had  known  Sam.  She  had  the 
art  of  friendly  cordiality,  and  she  seemed 
acquainted  \vith  us  beforehand.  She  said  to  each 
of  us  the  thing,  whatever  it  was,  that  made  him 
conscious  that  he  was  understood  and  liked.  What 
a  wonderful  thing  a  good,  beautiful,  human 
woman  is,  to  be  sure !  How  she  clears  and  sweet 
ens  the  atmosphere,  and  calls  out  the  best  man 
hood  of  every  true  man!  How  many  women  are 
there  who,  coming  unexpectedly  in  upon  a  party  of 
men  at  the  end  of  such  a  dinner  as  we  had  just 
enjoyed,  would  not  have  created  embarrassment 
and  uneasy  artificiality?  But  Mrs.  Sam  had  just 
the  opposite  effect ;  we  now  realized  that  the  din 
ner  would  have  gone  for  nothing  had  it  not  been 
crowned  and  consummated  by  this  rare  and 
delightful  rose  of  bridal  loveliness. 

Well,  we  took  our  seats  again,  and  I  had  the  felic 
ity  and  distinction  of  sitting  next  to  Mrs.  Sam, 
who  sat  next  her  husband.  And  now  the  bowl  of 
punch  was  brought  in,  smoking  and  fragrant.  It 
was  the  best  of  punches,  but  after  Mrs.  Sam,  any 
thing,  no  matter  what,  \vould  have  been  an  anti- 


THE    SYMPOSIUM. 


329 


climax.     However,  she  ladled  it  out  to  us  with  her 
own  white,  beautiful  hands,  and  we  all  stood  up 


to     drink 

venerable 

i  n  fl  u  ence 

is  certain 

Sam 

u  n 

bv 


her  health.     And  if  that 
ceremony    has    anv 
at    all,    then    it 
that     Mrs. 
will  remain 
touched 
time, 


sickness,  grief,  or  any  mortal  ill,  for  the  next  cen 
tury  or  two  at  least. 

I  don't  know  what  time  it  came  to  be;  but  Mrs. 
Sam  looked  so  fresh  and  rosy  and  hospitable  that, 
to  look  at  her,  it  always  seemed  as  if  the  evening 


330  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

must  be  only  just  beginning.  However,  I  suppose 
at  last  it  was  borne  in  upon  our  minds  that  we 
had  not  been  invited  to  breakfast,  and  that,  if  we 
were  to  go  at  all,  we  must  go  speedily.  Then  Sam 
stood  up  to  say  the  parting  words : 

"My  dear  friends  and  good  fellows,"  said  he,  "it 
is  only  in  one  sense  that  this  can  be  considered  a 
farewell.  It  won't  be  the  fault  of  my  wife  and 
myself  if  we  don't  meet  again,  soon  and  often;  our 
house  will  always  be  open  to  you,  and  the  sooner 
you  make  yourselves  at  home  there  the  better  we 
shall  like  it.  But  this  is  the  last  time  we  shall  see 
you  in  the  room  in  which  we  now  sit ;  to-morrow, 
this  house  passes  into  the  possession  of  a  new 
owner,  and  Six  Cent  Sam's  will  become  a  memory 
of  the  past.  That  chapter  of  my  life  is  closed,  and 
henceforth  I  enter  upon  a  new  one. 

"There  are  more  ways  than  one  of  being  useful 
in  this  world ;  I  have  thought  that,  even  in  this 
country,  where  men  have  better  chances  to  be  useful 
than  in  any  other,  they  were  sometimes  kept  from 
it  by  traditions  and  prejudices  which  once  were 
good,  perhaps,  but  have  outlived  their  time.  Men,. 
I  thought,  ought  to  come  nearer  to  one  another ; 
artificial  distinctions  ought  to  be  ignored,  and 
we  should  attempt  to  bring  about  a  brotherly- 


THE   SYMPOSIUM.  331 

feeling,  the  better  to  fight  the  evil  in  the  world  and 
promote  the  good.  Man  is  meant  to  stand  with 
his  feet  on  the  earth ;  whoever  tries  to  lift  himself 
too  high  above  it,  loses  strength  just  as  much  as 
does  he  who  sinks  beneath  it.  But  I'm  not  going 
to  preach  philosophy  to  you,  nor  to  relate  my 
autobiography ;  you  know  as  much  of  me  as  it  is 
worth  anybody's  while  to  know.  When,  some 
years  ago,  I  came  to  these  convictions,  I  had  been 
looking  forward  to  a  happiness  which  to-night,  I 
thank  my  Maker,  sits  here  beside  me.  But  I 
thought  that  I  should  not  be  worthy  of  that  hap 
piness  until  I  had  done  something  to  give  practical 
proof  of  the  faith  that  was  in  me ;  so  I  left  the 
place  in  which  accident  and  fortune  put  me,  and 
lived  the  life  which  you  all  have  seen,  and  in  which 
I  have  been  honored  by  your  friendship. 

"Now  that  it  is  over,  and  the  blessing  of  my  life 
has  come  to  me,  I  look  forward  to  no  idleness  and 
indulgence,  but  I  feel  that  I  have  before  me  a 
greater  and  harder  work  than  ever,  and  one  that 
I  could  not  accomplish  without  the  help  and  sym 
pathy  of  this  wife  of  mine.  We  shall  not  give  the 
people  cheap  things  to  eat,  nor  advance  them 
money  on  humble  security,  but  we  shall  enter  into 
a  larger  and  more  complex  society,  to  deal  with 


332  six  CENT  SAM'S. 

which  more  skill,  knowledge,  and  charity  are 
needed.  I  could  not  enter  upon  it  with  confidence 
alone ;  but  with  this  companion  beside  me,  I  am 
not  afraid,  for  she  is  what  I  most  aspire  to  be,  and 
she  will  not  allow  me  to  forget  the  words  of  the 
good,  immortal  Book,  '  of  him  to  whom  much  has 
been  given,  much  will  be  required.' ' 


It  is  not  very  long  since  this  event  occurred; 
but  enough  time  has  passed  to  show  that 
Sam  and  his  \vife  \vill  be  as  good  as  their  word.  It 
would  need  another  volume  to  tell  all  that  this 
means ;  but  whoever  has  realized  what  is  best  and 
most  real  in  the  life  of  the  American  people,  will 
know  of  what  nature  the  contents  of  such  a  book 
would  be. 


John  Holden,  Unionist. 


A  powerful  novel  of  the  days  of  De 
struction  and  Reconstruction, 


BY  T.  C.  DE  LEON, 


Author  of  "A  Fair  Blockade  Breaker," 
"  Creole  and  Puritan,"  "  Four  Years  in 
Rebel  Capitals,"  "Juny,"  etc. 


ILLUSTRATRD 


With  ten  full  page  drawings  by  CHARLES 
EDWARD  BOUT  WOOD  and  CHARLES  A. 
CORWIN. 


Handsome  Cloth,  12  mo,  $1.50. 


For  sale  at  all  bookstores,  or  sent  post-paid 
upon  receipt  of  price,  by  the  publishers,  The  Price- 
McGill  Company,  455-473  Cedar  street,  St.  Paul, 
Minnesota. 


BROADOAKS. 

An  interesting  Story  of  the  South 

BY  M.  G.  MCCLELLAND, 

An  American  Author  whose  Public  is 
Large  and  Appreciative  of  Literary 
Talent. 

HANDSOMELY  ILLUSTRATED 

t     With  full  page  drawings  by  CHARLES 
EDWARD  BOUTWOOD. 


Fiiie  Cloth,  12  mo,  $1.00. 


For  sale  at  all  bookstores,  or  sent  post-paid 
upon  receipt  of  price,  by  the  publishers,  The  Price- 
McGill  Company,  455-473  Cedar  street,  St.  Paul, 
Minnesota. 


Sylvester  Rornaine. 

A  Graphic  Story  of  the  Times,* 

BY  CHAJRLES  E.  PELLETREAU,  B.  D. 


Strongly  Written,  Well  Told,  and  Skil 
fully  Handled. 

"An  admirable  story  illustrating  the  triune  vir 
tue  of  faith,  hope  and  charity."  —  Burlington 
Hawkey c. 

'  *  Has  an  abundance  of  incident  and 
clever  portraiture  of  character." — San  Francisco 
Chronicle. 

"This  interesting  story  opens  with  a  wreck  at 
sea,  in  which  a  young  couple,  who  are  upon 
their  bridal  tour,  are  engulfed  in  the  tempes 
tuous  waters.  This  is  only  an  introduction  to 
the  stirring  events  which  follow." — Toledo  Blade, 
"A  story  of  especial  interest  for  its  study  of 
types." — Boston  Ideas. 


Attractively  Bound  in  Modern  Cloth,  12  mo,  81.00. 


For  sale  at  all  bookstores,  or  sent  post-paid 
upon  receipt  of  price,  by  the  publishers,  The  Pnce- 
McGill  Company,  455-173  Cedar  street,  St.  Paul, 
Minnesota. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000124293     2 


